


Unheard Songbird

by Wordpainter15



Series: Songbird Nocturnes [2]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Adoption, Agent 8 as good big sister, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Foster Care, Found Family, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Look they basically adopted 8, Mental Health Issues, Pearl and Marina as helicopter moms, Rhyming titles, Says Pearl to Marina, Self-Esteem Issues, This started as Pearlina 2019, sapphopods, what's one more?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21554995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordpainter15/pseuds/Wordpainter15
Summary: Pearl and Marina meet a girl who has no music in her soul and set to fix it. Eight does damage control. The little inkling is not amused. (Pearl impulsively adopts another child. Marina wants this to work. Eight discovers a new purpose. Three is somewhat supportive. Scar just wants to be left alone.)(Pearlina 2019 prompts- kind of... Eight became a big part of this. EDIT: 2020 Pearlina prompts to be added later in Part 2: Sound of Music)
Relationships: Agent 3/Agent 8 (Splatoon), Marina/Pearl (Splatoon)
Series: Songbird Nocturnes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817578
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	1. Moonlight Insight

**Author's Note:**

> Look, adoption needs more representation and I will write it if I have too. Bold is Octarian because I am not making up a language.

(Mount Nantai)

Nostalgic… Trees with a lace of sunlit leaves. Yellow speckles dotting the dirt. Wind that sounds old, a trembling whistle through nature’s wind chimes. Nostalgic yet still  _ fresh _ , fresh air, fresh smells, freedom. Here there is no motor oil to slicken her grip, or the monotonous beeping of machines, or the march of footsoldiers. Her tongue can taste the wind and the trees on the air. No metal tang or stale, recycled air filtered of pollutants. It’s just quiet-

“Yo, Mar, hurry your butt up!”

Well, not really quiet, and that’s okay. The quiet is nice when it is in moments. The few seconds before a performance. The moments before sleep. Quiet minutes as she holds a warm cup of coffee. But too much quiet can be insanity- and isn’t that how she found Pearl? Looking for noise? Searching for something, anything to break the silence all around her? The surface had been colors and lights from the moment she crawled up, but Pearl had shown her sound- shown her music.

“Reena!”

The octoling blinks and feels her face scrunch up. She hates that name.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Than move it! You’re the one who wanted to do this! Kick your butt into gear like one of your excavators and  _ goooooo _ ,” Pearl whines and pushes her crown back into place, “I’m gonna dry up by the time we finally make it.”

“I’m sure I can find a puddle for you to revitalize yourself in,” Marina snarks back instinctually and feels her lips pull into a smirk as the inkling guffaws and narrows her eyes into a glare.

There’s a giggle to her right where a pink octoling is failing to block her laughter, the pink tendrils of her hair moving to wrap around her mouth. Eight clutches collapsed lanterns in her hand. She’s careful not to puncture them as she chuckles.

“What’cha laughin at, octo?”

Eight’s only answer is a snicker more as the trio starts moving again. 

“Thanks, Pearlie, and you too Eight, for coming with me,” Marina says as they enter the familiar clearing.

Pearl drops her backpack unceremoniously to the ground and wipes her hand, “Well, duh, we’re coming with you. Or at least me, because Eight would totally be flirting Three into that corner on Starfish Mainstage if she could-”

“I would not!” Eight exclaims as her skin flushes.

“Your cheeks say otherwise.”

“Pearl, stop it,” Marina intervenes and shoves a lighter into the inkling’s hands. “Light a few candles, please.”

“So, what is this, exactly?” Eight asks as she fiddles with one of the lanterns and jumps when it pops open.

“This is where I met Pearl- where Off the Hook started. But, it’s also where something died… General 83-”

“But you don’t want to be General 83. That’s why you left,” Eight states.

“Well, yes, but she was fearless and intelligent. She knew how to handle any situat-”

“Now wait a fryin’ minute!” Pearl interrupts, “You’re as smart as ever and still brave as shell! Only difference I see is that you don’t wear those dumb goggles any more and, like, aren’t trying to destroy Inkopolis… Whatever that doesn’t matter anyway! You are fresh as shell. Be sad about having to leave the only home you know, but if you think you aren’t the freshest girl around I’mma gut ya.”

Marina watches Pearl finish her rant with a huff and the classic scrunched pout that pushes her button nose up in that adorable way. The younger idol smiles as Pearl sticks her tongue out at her and feels her hearts stutter warmly.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Pearlie.”

The inkling’s mantle ripples a rosy pink, pulsating at the bulbs in flowing ripples, before Pearl settles it back into its neutral hue. Pearl huffs haughtily and pushes a lit lantern to the side, “Well, duh. I’m the best thing ever. I’m ya girl, Pearl.”

They release the lit lanterns into the stream that runs through the mountains. The current will carry it back to civilization where cleaners would dispose of them, or the biodegradable materials would return it to the forest. Marina leans against Pearl, not caring that the prongs of Pearl’s crown poked her cheek and smiles as the inkling wraps an arm around her waist.

Eight follows the lanterns’ slow meander down the riverbed. The octoling carefully climbs over rocks, watching the lights flicker behind their red shells. A flicker of light in the distance, a sparkle in the dark silhouette of the trees downstream. The octoling slinks back to the older girls cuddling upstream.

“What’s up, kid?” Pearl asks and follows Eight’s finger. “What the shell is  _ that _ ?”

The inkling jerks up, already stretching her short legs over rocks and avoiding the spray of water getting spit up with the rush of the river. Marina blinks for a moment before she starts after Pearl.

“Wait! Don’t just go chasing it!”

It’s a small thing, that’s for sure. Smaller than Pearl. A tiny little inkling glowing like the lantern she plucked out of the water. The skin of the mantle glowed in the darkness and the pattern speckling the surface is blotted out by the light. Only one of her tentacles could be seen under the beanie and a mask covered the majority of her face. In fact, Marina could only see one white iris, the other hidden behind the long tentacle. Her skin is tinted a light turquoise, indicating her youth. The young inkling is gentle as she rotates the lantern, examining it thoroughly. Her lips twisted in confusion as she sets it back into the water, where it now lags behind the other two lanterns.

“What’s a squid like you doing here?”

The little inkling jerks, wide eyes fluttering about before they catch sight of the three strangers. She stumbles back, one hand fumbling at her back. Pupils constrict with panic, the inkling’s mantle flaring a dark purple.

“Hey, hey,” Pearl’s voice softens and her mantle dyes itself a sky blue, rippling with reassuring waves of white. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. We just-”

“I saw you glow! It’s so cool! Wait, did we scare you? Is that what purple is? I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry!” Eight rushes out as she twists her hands around each other.

“Kid? Kid!” 

Eight’s head jerks up at the familiar sound and Pearl’s eyes roll as the octoling immediately gets hearts in her eyes at the sight of her girlfriend bursting through the trees.

“Why are you here?” Three asks as she stops beside the young inkling.

“Why are  _ you  _ here? With a kid? In your hero gear?” Pearl asks as she steps closer.

The turquoise inkling reels back, the purple tint coming back and darkening as she hides behind Three. The glow in her mantle dims as the girl ducks behind the older inkling.

“Callie found her… step back for Cod’s sake, she’s scared of other inklings.”

“ _ You’re _ an inkling,” Pearl counters.

Eight turns away from the bickering squids and stretches her neck to look at the young inkling. She smiles when the child catches her gaze and the octoling waves a hand.

**“Where are you from?”**

The voice is pitchy, even for a child. Feeble as if the words barely had any air to cling to, hollow and empty. Marina jerks and turns her gaze to the inkling who is waiting for an answer. The child furrows her brows when Eight doesn’t answer.

**“You understand?”**

**“My memories are fuzzy,”** Eight answers slowly and her tendrils crunch up towards her scalp.  **“Why can you speak Octoarian?”**

The girl moves to answer, but Three’s tentacles flash a light purple and her spots flare black. The agent nods back to the tree lining and the child flares a submissive white as she follows Three’s order. The green-haired inkling notices Eight’s expression and looks skyward, knowing she can’t avoid the conversation. Three flares blue, the same used by Pearl moments before, and nods into the woods where the child sulks into.

“She needed an escape from the home, so I told her I’d sneak her out and take her on patrol with me. It’s not like there is ever anything here.”

“You snuck a kid out of their house? Are you an idiot? That’s squidnapping!” Pearl hisses.

“The  _ home, _ ” Three corrects and her tentacles flare an irritated orange, “In other words, rich girl, a place for older orphans who have a squid’s chance in the ocean of getting adopted. Kids can be vicious and she’s already a mess. What’s one night?”

“One and Two let you bring a kid on patrol?” Eight asks suspiciously.

“Callie trying to get on her good side again.”

Eight’s eyes furrow at the answer. Callie is such a sweetheart! Kind of flighty, sure, but how could someone get mad at her? Well, Eight supposed the final Splatfest for the Squid Sisters showed that maybe she wasn’t the most popular… but the inkling would never hurt someone’s feelings on purpose! And... and she’s a  _ Squid Sister _ , one of the best bands ever!

“Look, I got to get her back down before dawn,” Three hesitantly grabs Eight’s hand with a green tentacle and squeezes it goodbye, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Marina watches the agent flee, Three’s cheeks tinting green after Eight planted a quick kiss on one of them. The reflective strips on her hero suit shine in the moonlight that manages to filter through the trees. 

Marina squeezes Pearl’s hand, the sound of Pearl’s voice an instrumental as they start back to the parked car. She smiles at the flow of the inkling’s words, cherishing the rhythm they set as the speed into the open air. The octoling grasps the hand between hers a little harder and ignores the way Pearl’s rambling stops, breaking the tempo.

That little inkling had no music in her voice. That hollow voice repeats in her head like a broken record, crackling and pitchy in an almost unbearable way. There is no melody to it, no rhythm or tune; it’s quiet like it had been when Marina first crawled out of the domes. Quiet except for the whisp of something lost in the trees and searching… the DJ wonders what that inkling is searching for. What accompaniment would she need to turn that broken sound into a melody?


	2. Abstract Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pearl is nosy. (Also she swears)

(Color Pulse)

Marina fiddles with her hair, curling the green-tinted end of one limb around her finger as she leans against the wall. She clutches her splat brella in one hand and her eyes roll as Pearl fakes a dodge roll with her dark tetra dualies. The octoling sends Eight a look, and the younger octoling merely shrugs her shoulders and goes back to examining her new gun.

“This is taking fu-”

“Pearlie-” Marina starts.

“Fucking _forever_ ! It takes this long to get one rando, during a _Splatfest_?! It’s turf war, not league for-” the white inkling cuts herself off as the light flashes green and the sound of the gate to the waiting lobby wooshes open. 

A tiny little inkling dragging a Kensa Splatterscope behind her and tapping at her cell phone enters. The stock of her splatterscope taps against the tile of the floor as it is dragged towards the seating area. It’s modified, Pearl notices that by its size. It’s shortened, the barrel shorter than the standard charger one can buy off the shelf. Modified weapons are legal officially, as long as they stay within regulation for Turf Wars (which most don’t). This inkling got through the doors, so the charger had to meet the stats of a typical charger, no buffs. Pearl owns her own pair of modified dualies, a gift from her father and one that costs some heavy coinage. The higher damage output of glooga, three dodge rolls, range of a squelcher- Pearl kept them on a special stand in her bedroom. Totally not legal in Turf Wars, but she owned her own training grounds and a Houzuki private battle was always the freshest event in Inkopolis. 

Only one of her tentacles could be seen under a black beanie and a face mask covered the majority of her face. A Sneakie Beanie, Skalop brand. Pearl could only see one white iris, the other hidden behind the long tentacle whose bright surface is broken by black spots. More organic in nature than most inkling spots, none of the spots were the same size or shape, and circle is a generous term for the spots. They are blobs, tiny blobs that created a mosaic across the mantle rippling with a nervous gray hint. Her skin is tinted a light turquoise, indicating her youth. The kid from Mount Nantai.

“Are you even legally allowed to play?”

“Pearlie!”

The inkling’s mantle ripples a sour, muted orange as her visible eye narrows, “It’s medical.”

Pearl’s face scrunches as she coughed to cover her big mouth, dualies twirling in her fingers as another ding rings across the silence. Her gold eyes run over the inkling again, and her lips pull back into a smug smirk.

“I got this one Mar, looks like she’ll be on my team. Enjoy dodging the sniper!”

The octoling glances at the newcomer’s shirt and, with a pout, Marina crosses her arms over her chest, “Oh come on! Villains are so much more interesting than heroes!”

Pearl laughs loudly, tongue sticking out to blow a victory sound in Marina’s face, “ ‘Cuz villains are overrated. There’s nothin’ more outdated! Heroes are timeless and leave your sorry asses dimeless, so don’t bother tryin’ because Team Hero will win! Hey oh!”

Eight claps in the background with a toothy smile, a giggle falling off her lips as Pearl throws her arms back with a grand flourish. The white inkling mock bows and laughs once more at Marina’s pouty expression.

“Was that necessary?”

“It’s always necessary, Mar,” Pearl says with a smirk. “Now, leave _our_ lobby so that we can start.”

The screen lights up, a ding echoing as empty slots fill in the lobby. A flustered inkling bursts his way into the lobby, fiddling with his ink tank. He glances up and immediately flushes as indigo as his tentacles at the sight of the two idols. His eyes immediately glued to the ground and he hurriedly makes his way to the launch pad. Marina casts him a concerned look as she lifts her splat brella and makes her way to the door separating Team Hero from Team Villain. It closes with a hiss as the pressure valves adjust. The launchpad that delivers them to the stage opens, revealing a pool of red ink. The newest team member flies out of the room toward the stage.

“Guess it’s time to start,” Eight chirps as she flops into her octo form and slips into the pool, body curling inward before launching toward the stage.

“Hey kid, what’s ya name?” Pearl asks as she heads for the launch, “I didn’t get to ask ya that one time.”

The young inkling raises an eyebrow and points to the screen behind Pearl with the barrel of her charger. Pearl spares a glance as she changes ink color. The inkling knits her brow in confusion at the name Scarfish pixelating the screen. Kind of odd, but Pearl just shrugs. Maybe this one hit her teen angst stage early. She is done trying to socialize, after all, she’s got a battle to win, and dives into the ink. Her small squid pops through the surface of the ink.

“So why Team Hero? Are ya a fan of me?”

“I’m tired of villains,” Scarfish answers with her hollow voice that makes Pearl’s ears wilt just from hearing it. “I just want Super Sea Slugs, so can you go so this can start?”

Pearl launches towards Starfish Mainstage, wishing they played better music in the lobby so that it could distract her from Scarfish’s toneless words that crashed a tune harder than a note off-key.

…

“Kid’s not half bad,” Pearl exhales as she rolled to the left of Marina, who jumps and instinctively unfurls the brella’s shield. “Hey, truce with me for a moment so I can brag.”

Marina huffs and collapses the weapon’s canopy. Her team couldn’t pull a win from now anyway, not with twenty seconds and a danger sign flickering across the minimap on her wrist. The octoling pulls the map up, a hologram showing her team's locations and the ink coverage unfurling before her, and shakes her head as the N-Zap gets splatted and sent back to spawn.

A roller sporting the same blue as Marina is approaching from Team Villains spawn. Fourteenish and utterly starstruck, he turns away from Pearl to avoid confrontation and goes toward the lifted walkway. The blue laser darts from Scarfish’s position on the ledge, trailing the roller and fixating on his back. A glob of ink explodes against the roller’s back with a loud _ping_ , and the opponent dissolves in the red as his tank glows and warps him back to his spawn. A sprinkler cements itself on the wall behind Pearl’s head and starts spitting the red ink out, forcing Marina back a few steps. Marina raises her hands up, brella loosely held between her fingers toward the ground, and Scarfish aims her shot elsewhere. Neither misses the slight roll of her one eye as she repositions to face Team Villain’s base.

“It’s not like they’re not basically sitting ducks or anything,” Marina answers sarcastically as she releases the canopy of her splat brella, a propulsion of ink lurching it forward as the last ten seconds countdown fills every screen, “They just stand there.”

“What can ya do? We’re just awesome!” Pearl cheers and releases one last bomb as the timer buzzes down.

The team re-warps back into the lobby, the results appearing on the screen and the young sniper plops onto the bench. Her Turf ID slides through the card reader, the information storing in her card and updating her clout number. Her title and participation bar appear on the screen and the opening bars of Color Pulse plays as the bar maxes out. Scarfish’s white iris rolls as the tune finishes and her gaze lands flatly on Pearl for a moment as she makes her way to the door. 

Job completed and satisfied she’d get the max amount of snails possible for her team, the inkling exits the lobby. Scarfish is out of the waiting lobby before a rush of feet makes her ears twitch inside the oversized beanie. She feels them wither toward the ground as she sees the two idols rushing towards her with their octoling friend. The young inkling huffs and resettles her charger on her shoulder as the three young adults approach.

“Yo, Scarfish, wait up a moment!”

“Don’t you two have to sing or something?”

“At night,” Pearl brushes the question off with a gesture to the sky, “It’s still daytime.”

Eight glances off in the distance, distracted. The pink octoling immediately brightens, hair beginning to sway excitedly as she spurts her hand into the air. The two idols follow her line of sight to see the green tentacled inkling making her way to them. Three smiles at her girlfriend, grumpily looks at the other two in acknowledgment and pushes one of her long tentacles away from her face. Her scar from the Metro contrasts a teal scrunching of the skin, painfully puckered and pulled taut like a hot iron had slammed into her face. The agent grazes it with a finger before pulling her tentacle back in place, covering the worst of the scar so only the fading discoloration remained.

Pearl glances back to Scarfish, whose gaze is fixed on the side of Three’s face.

“It’s rude to stare,” Pearl starts and immediately feels Marina ram an elbow into her shoulder because her girlfriend’s too freaking tall to hit her in the ribs.

The girl’s charger shifts as the inkling’s shoulder jostled. One hand pushes aside the cyan tentacle covering her other eye and holds it away from her face.

Pearl is startled, and she hates that her body flinches at the sight because Scarfish purses her mouth and stiffens her stare, refusing to break eye contact. It’s a strength play, a common one found during turfing when two players are trying to splat the other. Blinking can change everything. Pearl blinks, hoping that in a similar vein that the scar scratched into the child’s face will vanish with a closing of the eyes. But it’s no trick of the light, the dark lines around the girl’s eye stay in position. Pearl feels like she could vomit because the lines are precise and meet at Scarfish’s hairline. They have a little curvature to them where they peak and cross. Hook marks- like the kind made in nasty brawls. Hook attacks are rarely accidents. The kind of situation that usually results in authorities ripping people off each other and immediate sumbergal in ink to prevent infection. They’re also illegal- very illegal. 

Pearl breaks eye contact and swallows her own spit.

Scarfish flashes a light red and speckles herself with bright splotches of yellow, a tilt of her head adding to her questioning face. Three nods to the tower and flares a brighter green. The agent looks towards Eight.

“You still want to do a few rounds?”

The pink octoling blinks for a second before jerking her head in a nod. She grabs Three’s hand with her own and tugs the two of them toward the inner tower, back to the lobby. Three pauses them, flashes green at Scarfish again before melting into hues to blues and purples.

“What’s she saying?” Marina whispers to Pearl as Scarfish’s mantle wavers to respond.

“The gist is that she asked why Three was here. Three planned on turfing with Eight, the bugger was going to ditch us, and that if she needs anything to contact one of them. Scarfish apparently doesn’t like that idea and is sulking like an angsty teenager…” Pearl notices Three’s shirt and laughs, “HA! I win again.”

“Why are you all Team Hero?” Marina pouts as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Aren’t there enough real villains without making up fake ones?”

Pearl feels her body go stiff again, muscles tensing as attention returns to Scarfish and her hollow voice. The turquoise tentacle is repositioned over her scar and her mantle ripples gray. Her one eye flirts away anxiously, avoiding eye contact as her head shrinks between her shoulders. The inkling shuffles for a second before turning around and walking away.

Pearl can’t even be brave enough to watch her go. Her eyes are facing inward, at the memory of the deep lines that peaked in such a precise manner. Her hand feels at the suckers on her tentacles. She can feel the hard hook hidden beneath the skin. Feels their sharpness.

“Those were hook marks, Mar. Someone hit her.”

Pearl can feel Marina harden next to her. The air between them is pressure waiting to pop. A look shows the octoling’s face furrowed, eyebrows knit, eyes straining. There’s a quiet between them now. Pulled tight. Tight like a guitar string about to snap. And Pearl can’t seem to find her sound. Her mind is quiet- and she hates that. Hates the white noise that buzzes in her head and prevents any sort of melody. Just static- fucking static.

…

Pearl can’t find her voice until she’s pushing her way past stuttering employees and into a waiting lobby with an apologising Marina at her heels. She ignores Marina’s questions as she bursts through the door. Her hands fist Three’s Splatfest shirt into a death grip as she pulls the inkling down to look her in the eye.

“What the fuck Pearl?” Three hisses as she is jerked off the bench. The agent drops her hero shot replica to the ground and tears the smaller girl off her collar.

“Can you please give us a moment?” Marina sweetly asks the two inklings that had been in the lobby with Eight and Three as guides them to the door with a hand on the shoulder. The octoling taps the “standby” button on the screen as the door clasps shut and the light above the door turns yellow.

“Who hit her?”

“What-” Three begins as she straightens her shirt, mantle rippling orange and red.

“Who the _shell_ hit her?! No one just gets puncture wounds like that! These,” Pearl’s hooks unfurl from their sheaths as she flips her bulbs suction cup up, “Are not accidents!”

“Why would I know?” Three growls out. “The others brought her back from Octo Canyon while I was MIA.”

“Octo Canyon?” Eight echoes.

“Ugh… yeah… they- she was there when Four and Marie were facing Callie and Octavio. She had those damn hypnoshades and was perched with one of those Octarian sniper guns on a flying platform.”

“What was an inkling doing in-” Marina starts as she sits next to Eight on the bench,

“I… don’t really know? Callie and Marie won’t say much either, but I have guesses. I mean, you know that an inkling hurt her. So its from before Octo Canyon, and she’s scared of inklings, but that could also be Octavio’s propaganda. She was there for awhile- I mean I think. I overheard her say once that she learned to morph her fingers from an octoling so...” Three trails off and bites at her lip. There was silence for a moment, thoughts processing in brains before the green inkling starts again, “I think it was her mom, but I don’t know for sure. She’s more scared of girls, probably because they typically keep their tentacles longer.”

“Then why isn’t she scared of you? Not like you’re a ray of sunshine,” Pearl pouts as her eyes furrow. How could anyone be scared more of someone barely five inches taller than her, but not this dead-eyed squid who looks ready to shoot the first thing to aggravate her? How the shell is that fair? Pearl is nice to her too!

“Scar comradeship I guess… one look at my scar and she stopped hiding in shadows.”

“But, why would she scar?” Eight asks, “I mean, most people get their fair share of turf scars because they’re too stubborn to stop fighting to submerge-” 

“It’s because that puncture was deep and no one let her submerge,” Pearl growls and looks Eight in the eye. “It’s old. So she was still- still basically a baby… Might not have even been more than a blob of ink,” the inkling swallows.

“Juvenile inklings have sensitive membranes still adjusting to the whole skin thing,” Three takes over and fiddles with Eight’s fingers in her lap. “It’s when inklings typically get any lasting scars.”

“Yeah, I got a few killer scars from skateboarding after I got my “leg” legs,” Pearl adds idly, “Ugh my doctor was a pain about that fall.”

“If you really want to know more about her, I’d go ask Callie. She loitering at Cuttlefish Cabin shoveling down waffles with Four like the animals they are. Now can we get on with our match?”

Pearl struts out the door with determined stomps, hand gripping Marina’s as they pass the two players who are sitting against the wall waiting to get back in the lobby. The small inkling gives them a peace sign with her free hand.

“Alright,” Pearl says as they exit the Deca Tower toward the sewer grate. She claps her hands determinedly, “We got like, maybe two hours before we got to perform so let's go grill a squid.”

Cuttlefish Cabin has the chill of winter that the tall buildings in the Square block. It has Pearl pulling her open jacket across her body and sidling toward Marina’s side. Her golden eyes are firmly fixed on the scenery when the octoling snickers and wraps a long arm around the inkling’s shoulders to pull her close.

“Cold?”

“I ain’t made for this,” Pearl whines and pushes closer into Marina’s side to leech off her warmth, “This is what heated cars are for.”

“You… I can’t even call you a big baby, ya shorty.”

“I will hide your laptop somewhere your lanky body will never reach, don’t fight me,” Pearl scrunches up her nose and blows a raspberry. Her chest expands as she pulls in a breath, “YO Callie! Get out here!”

“What’s all the noise?” the black tentacled Squid Sister yawns as the door to the cabin pops open and the idol slumps to the ground. 

Four follows her, a plate with a tower of waffles- well, more accurately a tower of whipped cream and a medley of berries on top of two waffles, in hand. The agent’s bobbed tentacles sway as the inkling stuffs a piece in her mouth.

“Three’s right- you’re a fucking animal. You broke the law. One,” Pearl starts as she pushes against Marina’s arm that had lowered to latch around her waist. Marina only tightens her grip in response as her girlfriend tries to lung forward, “One, you freak, is that only _pancakes_ are supposed to be in a stack. Two, pancakes are superior for the reason you get a stack. Three, the point of pancakes and their lesser brother, the waffle, is to eat them and not use them as a plate for whipped cream!”

“Pearlie, we came here for something else remember?”

“Oh yeah, thanks babe. Callie, what’s the deal with the kid?”

“Pearlie…” Marina sighs and pulls the squid back a step to lessen the strain on her arm, “Three said you could tell us more about this inkling we met. Turquoise ink with the wave hairstyle? She calls herself Scarfish.”

“Oh, you mean Cicatriz? ,” Callie asks and the name rolls of her tongue with the heavy accent that accompanies an Octarian tongue. “Actually, I don’t think anyone calls her that here, but that’s what the other octolings called her. I mean, she hates her legal name.”

“That’s a terrible name! Why would you literally call her scarred?!” Marina exclaims, “No wonder she hides it.”

“Actually she never hid it underground, from what I remember. I think she gets a lot of grief for them up here- everyone can tell what it’s from and well… I think she’s just sick of the looks. S’not like scars are rare in the Canyon. So whatcha want to know about Scar?”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Pearlie,” Marina sighs. “She doesn’t even know us.”

“Scar doesn’t like _any_ inkling except Three,” Callie states with an eye roll, “Don’t take anything personally. From what I overheard, her parents are the reason she ended up in the domes. Everyone called them _malvados_. Actually, she was kind of a rallying call; inklings must be terrible if-”

“If you cut your own kid across the face. Promising kid too- lethal with a charger. Had a good future ahead. Now look at her. Hiding behind her own hair, scared of every shadow. You want to say you saved her, but there’s a reason she thinks you inklings are the villains,” Octavio sneers from his snowglobe. His form is pushed up against the wall of his prison and his eyes pin onto Callie. 

“You had to put hypnoshades on her for her to shoot anyone. Any future with you is one where she had no control,” Marie snarks as she exits the cabin, “That makes you just as bad as her parents.”

“ _I_ never sold my kid to my kind’s worst enemy-” Octavio starts to counter only for Marie to tap the glass forcibly with her umbrella.

“Do not play innocent! Why was there a research center to buy her in the first place?” the Squid Sister slams the tip of her umbrella to the ground, eyes narrowed into angry slits.

“That was a radical group not associated-”

“There was no way that none of your forces knew about-”

“Wait one fucking minute! She was what?!” Pearl interrupts and gently uncurls Marina’s arm from around her. “Give me a second, babe. You!” Pearl slams a finger onto the glass, “Listen here, fish! I do have enough money to bribe Three to finish you off and throw ya in the ocean, and I know she would, so don’t mess with me! So if I find out you had any association with this ‘radical group’,” Pearl’s voice lits with the words, “You better watch out.”

The octarian king raises his brow, arms firmly crossed around his body. A green eye shifts to Marina, catching her gaze even as the octoling rubs at her forehead in exasperation.

“This is what you chose as a mate?”

“Hey! Know what, I’m done with you,” Pearl turns away and searches for her phone in her jacket’s pocket. “Hey Eight, do you want a sister?”

“Pearlie, what are you doing?”

“Mar, babe, how do you do with kids?”

“I like kids. Now, what are you doing?” Marina’s words rush out as she reaches for the hand Pearl is holding the phone with. “Pearl!”

“Ask Three what place the kids from. Text it to me, I gotta call my dad. Thanks, kid, see ya later,” Pearl hangs up the call only to immediately start another. The inkling ducks under Marina’s arm to get out of reach, “Hey, Pops, I need ya to do somethin’ for me. I’m sending you an address and will explain later, but me and Mar are getting a kid. No I’m not lyin! I’ll explain later, but this kid needs help. I did it for Marina! Look, just get her now and, if this totally flops, we’ll go fight about it later. Okay? Okay, thanks Pop!”

“Pearl, what did you do?!” Marina asks as Pearl closes her phone.

“Well, she’s ours now. We’ll pick her up after we perform- My dad’s takin care of it.”

…

The young inkling has her Splatfest tee already folded neatly next to her spot on the roof of Ammo Knights. The noise cancelers were starting to cause a buzz on pain in her ears, but the world is blessedly silent. Color explodes, splotches of red strobe lights and blue glow sticks, pulsating in time with the beat she can feel pumping through the building. 

Scarfish’s eyes lull to half slits, enjoying the moment she had left before her curfew. The energy throbs through her body, her ink thumping to the beat going through the speakers. She can’t even mind the lights- overstimulating as they were. Sometimes the energy is just too addicting. Even when her eyes slip shut, color pulsates behind her lids with the vibrations shaking the roof.

A harsh buzz jerks the phone in her pocket and a scowl immediately crosses her face. What now? Small hands fumbled for her cell.

“Scarlett, you have a placement lined up.”


	3. Sleepless Bleakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent 8 steps in

(Agent 8's Interlude)

_“Finality's not what it seems._

_When your end comes, rise up and run._

_Don't let defeat dissolve your dreams.”_

_~Spawn Point_

Scar never would’ve guessed the power of money. Even if she knew the power of money. But here she is. Inside a car with tinted windows and a mini-fridge. Her noise cancellers hang limply around her neck and her fingers curl in her lap as she restrains from fiddling with them.

Pearl is conversing with her father through an earpiece while tapping away on her phone, fingers flying almost as fast as her mouth spits some sort of legal jargon. The side effect of bribing a child out of the foster care system. Money talks, Scar supposed. She had never seen a foster be accepted so quickly. Of course, a representative would have to inspect the living area. Yet, favorable donations allowed sleepovers without legal fuss. 

The young inkling jerks to save her charger from the floor as the car takes a sharp turn. It almost throws her to the ground as momentum forces her out of her seat, but long arms latch around her body and pull her back into her seat.

Marina releases a relieved sigh as she hauls the little inkling back onto the soft lining of the limo’s seats. The octoling offers out an open hand to take the charger and gently grasps the gun warily given to her. Her fingers run over the sleek barrel and examines the design.

“This is a nice modification, they managed to shorten it but keep it in regulations.”

“It has a stronger expulsion mechanism to maintain the velocity it loses with having such a short barrel. The recoil kind of sucks, it forces me back farther than a normal charger, but it keeps it in regulation. I mean, we thought about making it heavier to counter the recoil, but-” Scar suddenly goes quiet when she swings her head to the side to look at Marina. She swallows and accepts her charger back, silently bringing it to her chest, “Um, Sheldon thought it’d make it to clunky so we left it alone…”

“Well, that was some smart thinking,” Marina says sweetly as she moves across the limo to grab a soda. “Do you like gun mechanics?”

“I mean- you already know this stuff… I- I enjoy energy. Batteries, electricity and stuff… Um, but Cee, this octoling I used to know. Sci-ops, she knew chargers. She-”

“Hmm?” Marina mumbles as she swallows a gulp of her drink. The octoling drops one next to Pearl who gives a thumbs up even as her face scrunches and the inkling starts yelling at the poor sap on the other side of the call.

“Nothing.”

“I should Killer Wail these morons,” Pearl mutters as she tears off her earpiece. “Alright, who wants some food?”

“I could really go for ice cream,” Marina confesses and frowns slightly when the drink she offers the young inkling is refused. “But we got to pick up Eight.”

“We do? I thought Three was bringing her.”

“Three is working a Grizzco shift right after they played Turf Wars.”

“It’s a Splatfest! Who does Grizzco during a Splatfest?” 

“Three gets sick of Turf War,” Scar inserts as she wipes a speck of dust off the scope of her charger, “She says that people couldn’t splat an opponent staying still. Of course, that’s because Turf War is about spread so deviation, but-” the inkling cuts herself off again and ducks her head so her tentacle covers her face.

“Looks like we got another gearhead in the house, Mar,” Pearl says with a lilt of her voice. “Cod, I’m really outnumbered now.”

“It’s just another person to help you with your computer.”

“I’M TELLING YOU IT ONLY WORKS AROUND YOU!”

“I have looked that laptop over down to its coding and there is nothing wrong with it,” Marina insists and rolls her eyes as Pearl jumps up. 

“Then why does it always crash?!”

Eight is waiting for them off in a side alley that Pearl’s driver somehow managed to squeeze into. Her hair sways lazily with her happy exhaustion and she slumps into one of the cushy seats. The octoling’s gun is placed carefully next to her and she accepts the drink offered to her with weak hands. Marina looks on with amused concern, one hand moving to rub soothing circle into the younger girl’s back and she presses her forehead to Eight’s. The pink octoling presses back for a moment, the tentacles of their hair brushing together in a greeting before the two parted.

“Overdid it?”

Eight only groans in response and a piece of her hair swats away Marina’s fingers prodding at a forming bruise on her face. The ex-soldier meets eyes with Scar and smiles.

“ **You should’ve joined us.** ”

Scar flashes surprised splashes of pastel colors that waver before settling back into her turquoise, “ **I don’t really like Turf War… I’m just a cobarde that hides out of reach.”**

Eight’s brows furrow at the words and she shifts her body towards the little inkling, eyes fixed on hers, “ **That doesn’t make you a coward.”**

**“Ad gloriam mortem.”**

Marina stiffens at the phrase and she swiftly turns away from the dumb catfish video Pearl was streaming on her phone. Her gaze swirls until it locks on the surprised duo staring at her with saucer eyes. She knows her hair has curled toward her scalp the way many octolings do when disturbed, and the muscles in her brow are starting to sting in its knit position.

“No,” the words are hard as they break into the air. Familiar to Scarfish like the coldness of her charger in her hand and the ping as a shot meets victim. It’s the hands guiding her around her first gun, firm in its teaching. “Never say that again.”

Scar’s mantle ripples confused reds and grays, a muddled mesh of dim colors, “ **Why?”**

“Because it's nothing but propaganda. No one should ever have to run into their death- saying it so trivially diminishes those who actually sacrificed themselves. It is not easy to die a hero.”

“Mar, babe?” Pearl edges out slowly with her voice after a few moments of silence. “You want pizza or noodles?”

“Noodles. Extra-”

“Yeah, yeah, extra spicy. Cod, I don’t understand how your tongue hasn’t fallen out yet.”

Pearl turns to Scarfish, who had shrunk into her seat as much as her body allowed. The older inkling’s mantle ripples muted reds and freckles with orange. 

Eight pulls herself up into a proper sitting position to watch the interaction, still amazed whenever she sees two inklings color sign. Pearl seems unimpressed with the murky indigo and gray she gets back and flashes her colors brighter. Scar’s mantle speckles with a dark purple and her arms move to wrap around her legs. Pearl sighs with a grumbly breath, her mantle bleeding into the azure blues that ripple with white like sunlight off water. Eight watches Scar’s eye fixates on the white ripples and sees her muscles unwind with each pulsing of white through the elder’s mantle. The dark freckles fade into the mantle, and the cyan returns with her own pulses of white. Eight tilts her head when Pearl groans with an eye roll.

“Ugh, fine… You sure?” Pearl waits for the confirming nod and starts tapping her phone. “Alright, same as Mar it is. Alright, now the real question. What are we getting for dessert?”

“I am not having your sugar bread again.”

“Well, I don’t want your brain freeze either!”

…

The apartment is dark, only the moonlight lit the surroundings of the living room. Scar lightly runs her fingers over the fabric of the living room, the buttons of the remote. She notices Pearl’s laptop, sprawled open on the coffee table near a mess of handwritten lyrics and melodies, and is half tempted to see if it glitches on her. Her mantle glows as she passes through a beam of moonlight and blotches out her shadow as she quietly maneuvers through the apartment. Her eyes examine the way the windows lock together. Scar’s new lodging is up high, an expensive high rise near Inkopolis Plaza. From the window, she can see the balconies of other tenants, a safe super jump distance away. The living room is divided from the kitchen by a half wall and a potted fern that Pearl named McThornsten for absolutely no reason. The door to the apartment has two locks, one of which Pearl didn’t remember to lock that night so Marina had pulled herself out of bed to do it herself as Scar watched from behind the wall. One lock is a deadbolt, the other a simple knob lock, both easy to change from the inside.

Scar makes her way back to the living room, nudging the floor with her bare feet. The glow of her mantle dims as she enters the darkness of the hallway, where only a nightlight near the bathroom lights the hall. The young inkling stretches and turns toward the guest room she’d been given to sleep in. There’s a creak behind her. Sudden and pitched. Scar’s pointed ears twitch and she pivots.

“ **What the fu-”** Eight breathes out as she exits the bathroom and snips her voice as the inkling frantically motions for her to quiet.

There’s a tense silence as the octoling takes in the inkling. Scar looks at her feet, focuses on the grit of the rug between her toes. The cool breeze of the air conditioner gusts across the inkling’s mantle, like the crawl of tiny bug legs. The inkling flinches from the pressure built in her body, mantle rippling an anxious gray. The pulsing of energetic ink makes her head throb. She hates that.

Eight blinks, amber eyes shining among the dark. She flares her mantle the same sky blue Pearl used earlier and holds her hands palm up.

**“Our secret, alright soror?”**

Scarfish nods, forcing her puffed up mantle to deflate and her body to bow inward.

The next morning, when the idols are bickering over the results of the Splatfest with raspy, borderline blown out voices, Scar takes the seat next to Eight with silence and accepts the bowl of cereal. Eight glances at the inkling already dressed in her beanie with the face mask pulled down by her neck so she could eat. A determined look crosses the agent’s face as she offers a glass of pulpless orange juice.

… 

Eight dubbed the next weeks following the inkling’s arrival a learning and panicking stage for the two idols. Anxiety strung through Marina’s (officially it is _Marina’s_ name on the lease even if Pearl pays half the rent) apartment as the two adjusted to having the impromptu roommate. 

Eight didn’t think it worth all the fuss. Scar blended into her new environment seamlessly and with tactical precision that the octoling respected. At times, her transition was so seamless that the three of them couldn’t find her despite the apartment being a closet compared to Pearl’s mansion where they spent weekends. The first night they couldn’t find her, Marina and Pearl spent hours scouring the rooms. Eventually, Eight had tired of their frantic running interrupting the image on the screen and hacked the signal coming from Scar’s cell phone and put the situation to rest (Scar had fallen asleep in her closet reading a book with a reading light). She’s low maintenance- a breathing ornament that adorns the apartment with her cyan mantle that glows at night. The inkling doesn’t fuss. Her silence is profound, broken only by occasional Octarian phrases and her breath.

The night is the only distraction to the illusion. Eight notices it when she can’t sleep; when sickly green paints her nightmares and the beeper of a bomb pounds her ears. When she claws out of her bed to blankly watch TV with a bowl of dry cereal, she’ll pause in the darkness of the hallway. Scarfish wanders the apartment at night like a ghost, running hands over the furniture and examining- always inspecting and turning over items. She always focused on the doors, the windows, on the _exits_. Eight knows she avoids the security camera, and that she knows how the wires connected and worked. Then, eventually, Scar will retreat to her room and ignore any of Eight’s questions.

Eight knows uncertainty. She knows faking. Faking being okay when everything around you is noise and light and you’re really not okay. Because it’s beautiful on the surface… but _loud_. Loud with colors and bright lights that blind and make you want to retreat to the darkness where your eyes don’t burn. And you want to love every part of it, because why would you not? Not when you worked so hard to get here. So even when the sun hurts, she smiles at it. She worked for this- and she worked hard. What’s facing one more little fear? Sun will make her smile, and she’ll stand in the rain even if it stings because the feeling is her own form of sunshine. Eight loved forcing herself into the light.

Scar’s faking her daylight, faking enjoying the sunshine, and that’s okay… for now. It won’t be okay forever, Eight knows that- because you can’t avoid the sun. For now, Scar has the night with its moon and its stars to speckle the endless darkness. She has her glowing mantle and she has Eight to illuminate her way. Not that Scar realizes that the octoling is hers and that she is Eight’s, but she’s Eight’s _soror_ now. And Eight has a duty to her little _soror_ that she won’t abandon, won’t neglect. First is the secret that she keeps under tongue. Second is to be the guard during the night patrol that Scar pulls, when she looks for an exit Eight hopes she never needs. The third is to be an exit, from two helicopter idols just trying to help. As the elder, Eight is responsible to teach the inkling, which is strange as the world is still new to her, but the octoling is determined to do it right.

Scarfish pulls her mask up her face and repositioned her hair, hiding away the scar as she takes a seat next to Eight at the breakfast nook at the start of a new day. She’s tired. The black mask around her eyes surrounded by sulky cyan skin. Scar doesn’t sleep well and hides the effects with her face mask. Eight understands that too. The octoling smiles at the young inkling who is flashing colors at Pearl as she shrinks into the counter, hiding away from the sun. 

Eight has decided that her first lesson to teach is that Pearl isn’t scary. Marina too, Eight tacks on as she watches the inkling flinch away from the dark octoling that pops up by her side to say good morning. Eight feels her beak nip at the inside of her mouth. It’s hard to work around Pearl _and_ Marina. Pearl, who throws herself body first into any project, almost squishes Scar with her presence. Marina simply hovers and watches, as any scientist does when examining an unknown. However, they make it difficult to teach her _soror_. By the time Scar can hide herself away from Marina and skirts away from Pearl, she wants nothing to do with Eight.

The ex-soldier doesn’t blame the two. They’re trying their best! Eight knows that. They’re both to use to the lights and the music. Even if Marina still has the protocols in her brain and the drills in her muscles, the memories are drying up. It’s understandable, she doesn’t cling to the fleeting feelings like Eight. It’s easier, Eight supposed, when you decide for yourself what to tuck away and forget. Marina replaces the harsh beats of foot soldiers for the keys of her keyboard, the warmth created by the barrack for Pearl sprawled across her front. Eight can understand replacing: she replaces the rumbles of tracks underfoot for the vibration of a dozing Three on her shoulder, and the thick fear of enemy ink with the adrenaline of Turf War. But Eight wishes for images, not just nostalgic feelings that whisk away with the wind.

Her lack of memory makes her position as an elder _soror_ more complicated. Mem cakes can only rouse so much. Faint feelings she can only express with rhyme. Eight will make due though. It’s a day without Off the Hook, the entertainment side anyway, and she’s ready to capitalize the time. Today is a day for a loud inkling, her nerdy girlfriend, and the two they took under their ink.

It’s also perfect for a lesson. Lesson one: Scar can trust Eight and Off the Hook. That’s what Eight needs to get across first.

 **“Come on, keep up!”** Eight calls out as the four scale the stairs to a private turf party.

It’s not a stage put into the rotation, as its purely a training room for private reservations only. Good for practice, real practice and not blankly aiming at the sliding targets that did nothing at all that Sheldon kept in the warehouse outback. These rooms were stocked with state of the art electric training carts that ran as fast as an inkling and sprayed colored gel. It wouldn’t splat, but it is good dodging practice. Ramps, pool hazards, sponges, metal grates- anything found in Turf Wars, a cephalopod could find here. 

Scar’s charger is marching on her shoulder with each step, a bounce for each soft touch of the girl’s feet. It had a static pace to it, like the metronome Marina kept on the piano or the mechanic hiss of a machine. It’s hard to reprogram such things and replace it with music, but Eight has seen Marina and Pearl try. 

Eight knows it bothers them, the robotic way she moves and the way music simply deflects off her. It’s unnatural in a way, music is ingrained in the DNA, yet Scar walks away from the beat, has no melody in her voice, and Eight has never seen her so much as hum a tune. Music constantly floods the apartment as they experimented with Scar, searching for a melody that moved her. Sounds so soft that cradle and energetic songs that bounced as they tried to gleen a favorite type. Marina would pull Eight into random dances, pushing out the stiffness that still stilted Eight’s muscles. And amongst the twirling and the laughter and Pearl’s voice weaving lyrical notes of some Squid Sister song, Eight would see the two glance at the inkling still sitting against the wall with a book. Scar never so much as tapped her fingers. So after a while, the music would dim and the two idols would retreat to their studio to sketch out plans for the next day.

The two’s lack of response is why Eight dragged them to a private lobby. New isn’t working, so Eight decided to retreat to something familiar. Eight can see familiarity in Scar’s posture as she preps her splatterscope, methodically checking for ink build up in the barrel and for smudge on the lens of her scope. She critically eyes her tank’s filter and checks the release for her sub-weapon. This is familiar to the inkling, this checklist of inspection. However, this is still a lesson, which means Eight has something to teach.

Scarfish looks up as the white of her charger falls into shadows, a sad gray without the bright overhead lighting. She pushes herself back into the bench, her spine straight with the wall as the octoling towers over her. The inkling bows her head slightly, white speckles freckling her mantle. A weight falls into her lap, forcing her to clasp her knees together to catch the falling Splattershot. Unfamiliar fingers feel around the reinforced material the shooter is made of, wrapping around the handle with a confused touch. Eight watches the inkling’s brow furrow and smiles when Scar looks up with wide, confused white irises.

“It’s good to switch things up,” Eight states and motions for the girl to stand. “First lesson for you, soror, flexibility. You use to being still. Can’t be still with this.”

“Sore what?” Pearl asks Marina as they settle their own gear into place.

The octoling hands over Pearl’s right dualie, the nozzle had clogged, and situates her brella in her hand. Marina watches as Eight brings the inkling before training dummies and fixes the girl’s stance.

“Soror,” Marina answers and slugs on her ink tank, “It’s the equivalent of sister here, but it’s used as a… companion in arms? Usually everyone from a platoon considers themselves sororibus. The oldest soror has a moral obligation to teach the younger… it really is just something they preached for morale to build comradeship. It goes deeper than that most of the time, for those who consider someone a soror.”

“So this whole soar oar thing is good, right?” Pearl asks as she watches Eight adjust the inkling’s grip.

Marina watches Eight gently move the inkling’s clumsy fingers, fixing the positioning before tapping the child softly on the shoulder. She forces the girl to loosen her stance, and the octoling grips her own octoshot replica. Eight bounces on her legs, a constant shifting of her weight as she keeps a steady grip. Scar watches her and looks down at her own feet before looking back up. Marina can’t see her face, but by the way Eight laughs and moves to help sway the inkling in the proper manner, she can assume Scar’s giving the wide-eyed look she gave Marina the one time Pearl shoved her game controller at her.

“It’s a good thing.”

…

Scar is clumsy with the splattershot. By the way her brows are knit to her eyes and the blue of her skin pales at her knuckles, Eight can feel her frustration. She half expects her to throw the gun to the ground and kick at it. Eight can understand that feeling, the one were your shoulder just fall forward and a weariness stings your spine to the ground. Where there’s a constant burning in your eyes and a harsh stinging in the throat, but you won’t cry. There will be no tears because nothing is more pitiful than crying in isolation with only your weapon to hear. So the back pushes against the fatigue, straightens, and the gun lifts once more, ready to fire. The ink will keep spewing and, even if second chances will cost you, one has to keep moving. It’s a strength hand-crafted from youth, shaped by the teachers that kept pushing and pushing until Eight dared to dream a dream meant only for her.

Scar has the training, the militant drive that Eight notices in the octolings that rise to the surface. Yet it’s stagnant. Stale. A force that moves her simply because it always has. She _has_ to move forward. She’s trained to. There is no other option but to push, push, _push_. Go until your fingers brittle off and your legs snap beneath you. Finish the next objective. But on the surface, Scar has no objective. She needs a task. Eight also thinks she needs a hug but, since the latter seemed impossible at the moment, Eight will settle with giving her soror tasks until Scar makes her own dream. 

“Can’t wait to grill some squid!” Pearl declares as they enter a waiting lobby in Deca Tower, “Cod, it feels like forever since we all got to be on the same team.”

“I’m just happy it’s not Goby,” Marina whispers to Eight as they wait for another team to show.

 **“I’m going to suck,”** Scar announces to Eight as she takes a seat on the bench next to her.

**“Little soror, you have much pride. Yet these experiences new, will help better you. So tuck it away, put it aside.”**

The inkling doesn’t get a chance to respond as the launch point opens and Eight quickly makes her way to submerge in the green ink.

It’s Piranha Pit, and Scar wishes to every god that she had her splatterscope as the timer starts ticking and the music starts blaring. Her steps are clumsy and unsure, hesitant of each step as she tracks around the conveyor belt. The recoil is a constant buzz in her hands as she ducks back behind a bumper to avoid the N-Zap firing at her. A burst bomb hides her escape, a rush of green ink that sends the opponent back a step.

“Go fight!”

Scar jumps as Eight appears behind her with her octoshot replica, a grossly nerfed version of the real deal. The inkling does not understand the octoling, who she _knows_ mains an E-Liter and can dry up the competition from sniper’s perch while her girlfriend mans the frontlines during ranked. She’s _seen_ it! What’s the point of this?! If you’re good at something, been trained and mastered the task of sniping to perfect execution, why take up a _shooter_? It- It made no logical sense! 

The inkling feels the burn of enemy ink settle into her skin’s membrane, seeping like hot syrup through her own. She hisses at the feeling and retreats as Eight takes aim and fires. Scar hears the whirl of the transporter on an ink tank as the enemy is splatted and sent back to spawn.

“Get moving. Lose points standing.”

Eight dips into a trail of her own green ink, swimming towards the enemy’s color and leaving the inkling clutching her splattershot with a twitching grip.

Scar moves to ink more ground. She’s accepted her uselessness in combat, but anyone can ink turf. If she can stay out of enemy fire, maybe she could get around to the forgotten spots the opponents have left unattended. No need to be a total waste of space. The single spurt of ink that explodes into a precise line makes Scar’s face scrunch up in distaste. There’s no way she’d be able to get across the map with that sniper camped on the grating. A sniper she’s very jealous of... the inkling’s eyes furrowed in a pout and her stomach dropping with her mood as the charger cuts off her path with another line of ink. Her throat burns and her tongue is heavy. She can’t do a thing with this thing! She blinks away the moisture building up. Exhales through her mouth.

She needs to think. Thinking can sort out the mess of sensory overload. Scar settles her body firmly behind the bumper and cleans the area around her in her team’s green. The inkling takes another breath, swallows the soreness in her throat. Think… Going straight through the middle is out of the question, even from behind the bumper she can see Pearl spinning circles around an aggravated slosher trying to pin the inkling under a flush of pink ink. Going left around Pearl would get her flooded under a rush of pink, but going right meant going right into the charger’s fire range… 

“Look out!”

Scar straighten up, the green of her mantle discoloring for a moment before settling again as the restrictors on turf war ink worked to keep her ink the team color. A flash of her eyes has the inkling scrambling away from a bomb rush trying to flush her out from behind the bumper. Her mantle trembles again as a hand grips her arm and yanked. The canopy of a splat brella unfurls. Pink ink flecks off the canopy, a few stray drops flying over the canopy to stain Marina’s skin. The canopy detaches, pushing through the explosions. The octoling follows, slipping into the ink left in the canopy’s wake, and executes an expulsion of ink at the enemy inkling. 

“You okay?” Marina breathes out once the enemy is splatted and sent back to spawn, “I saw you having trouble getting out of this corner.”

Scar only nods and glares down at her weapon. How the shell had she not seen the bomb rush coming?

“Well, come on,” Marina says as she gently bumps the inkling with her hip to nudge her forward. Marina unfurls her weapon in demonstration with a smile. With one hand she unfurls Scar’s death grip on her splattershot, “I’ll get you past the sniper and we can work on getting some turf back.” The octoling lets out a small laugh at the confused look she gets.

“But Eight-”

“Eight wants you to learn a new weapon, not get splatted over and over.” Marina shoots a trail of ink and places herself between the charger and the child, “I’ve got you until you get used to it, okay Avecita?” 

Scar feels the burning behind her eyes lessen.


	4. Patchwork Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group attends a Jr Turf War match to watch Scarfish play. Some things come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do people write action?? I have literally gone through the 5 stages of grief and whipped from depressed frustration to elation in the span of five minutes during ranked and I have no idea how to convey that feeling.  
> Sooo... It's my birthday and this is my favorite chapter sp even though I was going to wait until I had more chapters written- (clicks post).

( ~~Cicatriz's~~ ~~Scarfish's~~ ??? Monologue)

“Mar, babe, where did you put my jacket?!”

“Your rider? It’s on the coffee table,” Marina answered back as she rescrewed Scar’s ink tank back together. The octoling pushes her magnifying glasses up onto her forehead and rubs at her eyes.

“No, my Kensa!” Pearl’s loud voice echoes from somewhere in the apartment. Even so, the turquoise inkling still felt her ears ring under her beanie.

“Check our studio! Avecita, did you check your charger?”

The inkling nods, snapping the cleaned barrel back onto her splatterscope. She pushes her tentacle away from her face, “You didn’t need to fix it. They’ll have extras- ain’t a junior tourney if someone’s tank doesn’t stops working.”

“It’s not like it’s a hard fix. Here, you’re filter’s all good now,” Marina smiles when Scar flashes what she knows is a thankful dark pink. “You’re welcome, Avecita. Eight!” the octoling yells up the stairs, “We got to go soon!”

“ **Coming! Coming!”**

“You don’t need to stay. It’s not very interesting…”

“Ain’t gettin’ out of this that easily!” Pearl exclaims as she crashes into the room. The inkling slides her arms into the dark bomber jacket and she cuffs the younger inkling on the shoulder, “You invited us. No take backs.”

“ **I’m so excited!”** Eight warbles as she flies down the white staircase that lead to Pearl’s (and Marina’s) floor in the Houzuki mansion. The pink tendrils curl excitedly at the ends.

Scar’s shoulders droop in defeat as Eight touches heads with her, the octoling’s tentacle grazes her own for a moment before the older girl darts to the door with a peppy bounce. The inkling shifts her tank onto her back and hefts her charger onto her shoulder. The weight settles in its familiar way, but the tangle in her stomach makes the weight heavy and a burden that slumps Scarfish forward. She’s happy to roll the ink tank off her back onto the carpeted floor of one of the Houzuki cars- short limo… whatever it’s called. 

“You excited, yes?” Eight asks in her accented inklish as she ducks into the car and plops next to her soror. 

“Not as much as you,” Scar replies in her whispy voice. “I told Kore I’d play on her team since her teammate is visiting his dad in the country. It’s just a junior match.”

“Is there much difference?”

“Mh, kind of,” Pearl chimes in, “See, since kids have a harder time with transforming and rapid ink production there are limitations in junior turf war. The only special anyone is given is a bubbler, one that got banned in normal play once matches moved to deca. It’s kinda like Grizzco though, you only get two. Subs aren’t _banned_ or anything, but not a lot of people use ‘em there. No squid form, players have to refill at what’s basically a spawn point since its got the protective shield, but you only respawn at the one in the back of your base.”

“Can only use weapons unlocked by level 5,” Scar adds.

“Then why you use that?” Eight motions to the inkling’s charger.

“Scope has to be removed. Sprinkler isn’t offensive. It got okayed.”

“We’re going to the old plaza right? So, where are you playing?” Marina asks as the car passes through the square towards Inkopolis Plaza.

“Mahi-Mahi. One of the kid’s older siblings got permission to use the old stage since Mahi’s closed for renovations today.”

The car rolls to a stop in front of the plaza where a group of young cephalopods huddles near the entrance. Scar perks up as she spots a blob of pink and hastily unlocks the door with her charger lugged over her shoulder.

“ **Cicatriz! I knew I could count on you!”** the young octoling screeches as she glomps the inkling in a hug, grasping her tightly around the neck with her mess of tentacles moving to lightly graze the inkling’s shoulders in greeting.

**“You’re going to choke her, Kore.”**

Kore lets go of the inkling at her older sister’s words and pushes at her slightly oversized studio octophones, “ **It’ll be so cool to see you play!”**

 **“Soror, who’s this?”** Eight asks as she taps the inkling’s shoulder. Eight draws the attention of the octolings gathered in the plaza who all turn at the sound of the mother tongue.

“You leave barracks? Think you are stuck there forever!”

 **“Kore, I can leave any time,”** Scar threatens as she peels the octoling off her and nudges her away with the butt of her rifle. “I live with her. Did you bring me your spare?”

“Mhh,” Kore answers and chucks a duffle at the inkling. “Don’t understand why want it. No use shooters.”

“I might try something new,” Scar responds and watches as the other kids start shuffling inside. “Let’s go.”

…

Scarfish fiddles with her trigger as she waits for it to charge, the hissing of the ink gathering energy in the expulsion mechanism overriding the music fogged by her beanie. There’s a chirp as the charge finishes and the inkling peeks out from behind her barriar. Crosshairs cross her scope and her finger unleashes a spew of ink that pops the enemy into a burst of green. She lowers her charger, and loosens her legs that were trying their best to keep her from being propelled off the edge from recoil. 

**“Booyah!”** Kore’s voice statics over the speaker on Scar’s wrist and her indicator glows on the mini map, **“I told you all she’s good! Move in, I’m flanking the left.”**

 **“Water falls in three minutes. Blaster is respawning, coming down the center,”** Scar adds as she waits for her ink to generate.

**“Keep me posted Cicatriz! Patches, go with Tangerine to get that blaster!”**

Scar watches from her perch as the three octolings break off to push the enemy back into their base. Eight keeps one eye on her body camera even as she focuses her attention on the little Kore’s Splattershot.

“Come on kid,” Pearl grumbles next to her, “Move in or something.”

“She can’t go to far Pearlie. Jumping in that form isn’t exactly easy.”

“Yeah, well there goes their roller. All they got now is the dualies and the splattershot in front while the roller respawns and she’s stuck back near their spawn!” the inkling huffs as she plops herself back down into the seat to glower at the screen.

“Blaster catch dualies,” Eight sighs out and rubs at her face as the blaster activated his Bubbler and gets the splat once the dualies ran out of ink.

“They got greedy,” Marina adds as Kore retreats towards the middle with the other team on her heels. “They’re lucky it’s a short range team they’re fighting.”

The map showing every player’s position lights up as Scar’s team tunes into her frequency to super jump. Kore’s mantle glows like pink fire as her special activates and her bubbler spreads to her teammates. The team breaks to push back the opponents inking up the center. A buzzer sounds as the water starts to fall.

Pearl smiles as the ding of a charger splatting sounds across the field and the blaster gets sent back to spawn, “That’s my girl!”

“I thought I’m your girl,” Marina jokes as she pushes Pearl back into her seat.

“THAT’S MY OTHER GIRL! BOOYAH!”

“Pearlie, our ears…” Marina bemoans as a ringing overrides the pulse of the music. The octoling notices the twitching eyes of the other spectators, mostly the other octolings. “Shh, love, you’re causing a scene.”

“You distract her,” Eight adds as she notices Scar look toward the spectator stands.

That causes Pearl to cool herself down into her seat, but her knee still jumps with every beat of the music pumping through the loud speaker as the final minute starts counting down. Scar activates her bubbler as her ink tank dries up, using it as an instant refill as Kore gets sent back to spawn by a roller who managed a lucky vertical strike. The turquoise inkling scrambles back to avoid a suction bomb from the slosher trying to reach her as her bubbler fades. Tangerine lets out a shocked yelp as she bursts into green. Patches’ voice crinkles over the old comms, stating he’s retreating from the enemy’s base.

Ink rushes in her ears as the ink heats in her rifle. Scar takes a calming breath, letting the expanding of her chest prevent her body from shaking. The unyielding metal of the gun impresses on her skin as she tumbles over the edge of her platform. Air warps around her, flapping her shirt up and allowing the brisk air to flush over her gill slits. A flash of green- the red of a blaster. To the right, the green ink splattering roller. Scar stiffens her arms, feels the weight trying to draw her aim down. 

A loud boom echoes- bursts of pink and green.

**_“Enemy ink is heavy- like having mud sludge through your body.”_ **

_Hands wrapped around trembling fingers, stilled them around the metal of a trigger. A light touch, gentle and firm. Far lighter than the sniping rifle in her hands._

**_“But it hurts. Like the sting of water sprinkler. It invades the body, pushes out your color… pushes out_ ** **you** **_. You can’t let that happen, Cicatriz. They push you out, you might not be able to get back in.”_ **

Scar’s form explodes into green ink. Scar hates green ink- she wishes hers was always pink…

“She got TWO! TWO! With one shot!”

No one hushes Pearl- or even looks at her. Because she’s right- that was a shell of a shot. One that was needed, for Patches slinks in from behind to slam the slosher that took out Scar with his roller. Kore and Tangerine double team the remaining member as the reach the middle, a junior struggling to run through the pink ink. 

“It’s their game now,” Marina smiles and sits back into her chair. “By the time they get back, the game’s over.”

The green team realizes that, not moving past their base. The pink team takes the pseudo forfeit with grace, dropping their weapons. They plop onto the ground and play some sort of hand game that Pearl’s never seen. The adrenalines fades, for players and observers. Air becomes easier to take in.

“Where’s Scar?”

The words barely make it from Eight’s mouth before Kore is straightening. Her octo form plops to the ground before super jumping. Her body camera catches Scar’s form lying curled up on the spawn point.

The image forces Pearl and Marina from their seats.

“She okay.” A red octoling insists as she grabs both of them by their jackets to keep them from rushing. “She will calm.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Pearl hisses as Kore’s camera is turned away from Scar’s form.

“It is the shock- she do not get splatted a lot. My sister little, Kore, and her are a splatoon- they take care of each other. You sit now.”

**“Cicatriz trained under a sci-ops general who specialized in high power chargers. She never learned anything beside chargers, never had any form of serious combat. She did not finish the standard regimen.”**

**“Even so,”** Marina counters as her hair swirls around her with uncertainty, curling toward her scalp in irritation. **“That’s extreme- it’s not like she’s never been splatted before. I’ve seen her get splatted.”**

**“Cicatriz does not like green ink.”**

Marina is about to continue when Pearl jams her in the ribs with a rigid elbow.

“She say that Scar is good. Just calming down,” Eight translates and nods toward the screen that had tuned in on Scarfish’s feed. 

The camera jostles as the inkling picks herself up and clutches Kore’s arm in her grip. The two make it back to the middle, even if the match’s final whistle blew while they were still in their base. Tangerine and Patches bow their heads in acknowledgement and place a fist over where their central heart lay beneath the skin. Scar and Kore mimic it back before the team does the same motion to the enemy team. The two inklings on the green team fumble trying to copy the movement a few seconds late.

“Mar?”

“It’s a peace gesture. It’s considered polite to do that at the end of a pseudo fight.”

Kore’s sister keeps the three in place with small talk, stalling until the scarred inkling and her little sister can duck into the changing rooms. Another set of teams are itching to get onto their match, restless inklings jostling with each other on the observation stands and a few young octolings meticulously examining their guns. They burst past Scar’s team as they exit the changing room.

Scar’s beanie is pulled firmly over her mantle, the oversized hat almost obscuring her eyes. Kore is rambling beside her. Empty words meant to fill the silence, a steady buzz in the background to provide Scarfish comfort.

**“Good job Kor-kor. You too, Cicatriz. That was a good shot.”**

Scar shrugs, using the barrel of her charger as a crutch to lean against. Her body feels sluggish, the pink ink restrictors making her skin a mosaic of her natural turquoise and turf war pink. It blends better on Kore, only a few shades off from the common octarian pink. Scar flexes her fingers before her, marveling at the patchwork.

“Patches actually have patches now,” Kore chortles at the red octarian boy who glares and throws his roller over his shoulder.

“You did good, soror,” Eight compliments, one tentacle grazing the inkling’s shoulder in friendly affection. 

Scar’s white iris flickers towards Eight before her gaze returns to the pink in her ink.

_“Eventually you’ll be able to hold whatever color you’d like beyond camouflage. Hang tight to your emotions and you’ll always be pink, like the rest of our splatoon.”_

_Pink tentacles grazed the young inkling’s cheek, careful of the wound on her head. A soft caress that the turquoise inkling leaned into. Stubby blobs that had just started to separate into digits played with her caretaker’s pink tipped fingers. Cicatriz wished she was pink._


	5. Sweet Feat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pearl shows Scar the sweet things in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three Houses and reflecting on my friends who are ENL kids ( english as new language) are the only reference I am using on how to write Eight's dialect so I hope it sounds natural...

(Cake vs. Ice Cream Part I)

It’s Pearl who picks her up from the training grounds. Her hoodie is pulled over her head and pulled tight. Obscuring her face from the public milling about. It’s for Scarfish’s benefit- the kid jumps enough around her without having Off the Hook fans crowding her guardians. Not that they were doing any good at the whole  _ guarding  _ (guardianship?) thing! Now Pearl knows she’s not a goody-goody with responsibility and all that carp, that’s what Marina was for because she gets some weird satisfaction from micromanaging irrelevant things like their rent bill. But out of all of them, it’s Eight,  _ Eight _ ! Eight who is the only one of them to give her a plate of food without Scar eyeing it. Eight who pushes them back into their room at night even when they hear Scar haunting the halls. Eight who dropped a pair of  _ Pearl’s  _ spare dualies into the young inkling’s lap that morning and dragged Scar to the training grounds. Pearl loves Eight- but cod, she wished Eight would let her  _ near _ Scar! How can she get the kid to like her if Eight’s pushy butt keeps getting in the way? 

And here Eight is, blocking her again!

The octoling drags Pearl into an abandoned corner and levels her with a firm look.

“You have to be quiet near her.”

“What the shell does that mean?”

Eight’s brow raises at Pearl’s answer and watches the inkling curl in with a grumble.

“You guys-” Eight pauses to mull over her words. It was always so much harder when Marina was not there to translate. “You, both of you, are so used to the sound and the colors and the lights. Underground is not like that. It is… always the same. The sounds... all are static-like. Noise, but the noise you can ignore after a long time. Even I remember that the only color is from ink. And the light,” Eight glances outside through the window at the bright fall day. “Is different. All this takes getting used to.”

“Culture shock? Yeah but, I got Mar through it!”

“It is  _ different _ !” Eight insists with frustration forcing her accent through. “Marina choose! Marina choose to leave behind, to build new. We- we did not choose! At least not like her!” Eight huffs and her tentacles curl, scrunching in a way that makes Pearl snap her beak shut. “It's different.”

“Okay! Okay,” Pearl mutters quietly. “I get it… really. Some things- some things you just gotta get through,” the inkling pulls Eight down into a hug. Tightening her grip around the taller girl and allows her mantle’s larger tentacles to curl around Eight’s shoulders and graze her tentacles.

It’s an octoling thing- the brushing of tentacles between others. A greeting, a comfort that can be between anyone- from other splatoon members to family to lovers. Eight feels her eyes well because it’s not an inkling thing. Not when sharp hooks lie beneath the sucker and the bulbs are arduous to move. For inklings its trust, putting their last line of defense into the hands of another. 

“How long Eight?”

The octoling doesn’t answer and just nuzzles into Pearl’s mantle, the warm ink below the thin skin warming her face.

“Eight, you need to talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me; it doesn’t even have to be Reena. It can be Three, or the captain, or some random octoling off the street, but don’t carry this squit around. It ain’t good for ya, ‘kay? S’not like you can easily get yourself to Mount Nantai to screech your lungs out until you blow your voice. Do that for me?”

Eight nods and unlatches herself from Pearl.

“She did good today,” Eight states with a wavering voice as she steels herself to dry the welling tears. “Go reward her.”

“She ain’t a catfish Eight.”

“No, but you can bribe her like one.”

“Just go meet Three and stay out of that corner on Starfish.”

Eight blushes dark pink, “I’ve never- I’ve only done that once!”

“I know,” Pearl smirks a fanged grin, “I caught ya!”

The short inkling snickers as Eight whirls out the building, face blushing magenta as she pushes out the door into the bright sun. Pearl can see Scar eyeing her from where she was stationed on a bench, ordered by her soror to sit and wait. The child is idly twirling the borrowed dualies in her hand, tracing the circles they made with her eye. 

“How’d you like ‘em?”

Scar tightens her muscles, gritting her beak as Pearl’s bulbs sway too close to face. With a calming inhale, a small one to keep it obscure for Pearl’s distracted eyes, the inkling shrugs and hands the two guns over to their rightful owner.

“I threw myself into a wall.”

“Ha! Everyone does,” Pearl reassures with a chuckle. “Well, except Reena because she’s a perfectionist. But Eight definitely skidded around a few times and I totally flew down the stairs fooling around with them in my house.” Pearl grimaces at her own memory- cod Marina will never let her live that down. “You’re okay though?”

Scarfish nods and pulls at her beanie- Eight had examined her thoroughly. Pulled her into a bathroom stall and gently pushed aside her beanie. Tenderly examined the bruising skin with her fingers, even though she was not really sure what it was she was looking for. Scar couldn’t hear her over the rushing ink in her ears as fresh ink flowed to the area in an attempt to push more oxygen to the area. Couldn’t hear anything over the thumping rush of the vital ink, the nutrient-rich kind that differed from the kind generated in the ink sac that powered weapons. She remembers being told about vital ink in between training sessions when the push back from an Octarian charger flung her off her perch onto the ground below and patient hands dragged her to her feet to try again. Cee’s voice echoed in her head between the rushing ebb of her own ink and Eight’s voice fell into background noise. Unable to properly hear, the inkling had just nodded in response to the octoling’s answers. 

Eight caught her the next time her dodge roll failed.

“Kid, you’re okay right?”

Scarfish flashes green in confirmation.

Pearl purses her mouth and keeps her tongue in beak. It rolls in her mouth with barely constrained energy. Ignoring the discomfort in her mouth, the older inkling places a hand on the girl’s shoulder before starting for the door. The idol twirls her old dualies in her hands, the two guns swirling gracefully in her grip. 

“See, the trick to not lunging yourself into rando objects is to start to tuck your legs in right before you hit your dodge button. It forces your torso into the roll easier,” Pearl states offhandedly as the duo exits the building. “Alright, time for food! Hey, there’s this bakery in the old Plaza that’s to splat for.”

The voice is muffled in Scar’s ears, all sound is muffled in Scar’s ears due to the heavy knitting of her oversized beanie and the plugs she keeps in them to block out the obtrusive music that bumps through the training room’s speakers. Eight had looked at her oddly when she had pulled the foam plugs from her ears, but kept her focus on her bruising mantle-

Cod did her mantle still sting…

“So what do you prefer, cake or ice cream?”

“I don’t care,” Scar replies as they duck into one of Pearl’s cars.

Pearl pulls the privacy screen closed with a snap.

“What the shell do you mean you don’t  _ care _ ?! We- we went to  _ war _ over this you don’t have a side?!”

Scar flashes an annoyed orange reflexively as she drops her training duffle onto the floor and digs through it. She unsnaps her wristlet communicator from her wrist and slips it back into the soft pouch. Pearl can see a Splattershot lying in the duffle, the barrel meticulously cleaned. 

“Eight’s given you her Splattershot? That’s the first one she ever bought for herself.”

“It’s Kore’s,” Scar corrects as she pulls out the gun and shows the octopus sticker plastered on the handle with the octoling’s name messily scribbled on the surface. “She let me borrow it.”

“Thought you hate shooters.”

“Eight said I need to learn something besides my charger.”

“Reena’s always on me to use something besides my dualies too, but it’s just because she’s sore that I can always splat her with ‘em.”

Scar’s white iris shifts to glance at Pearl as she puts the borrowed gun away. Her ears twitch with the lie, and Scar knows its a lie because she’s seen Pearl and Marina go at it in Pearl’s private arena ( a  _ private cod-forsaken arena _ ). The inkling jerks around like she’s a puppet being controlled like a toddler. Her body blurring across the turf with each dodge roll. Each time Pearl tucks and rolls around like a soccer ball before springing back up. Which Scar is  _ slightly _ impressed by after spending over an hour flinging herself into the wall and then another hour crashing into Eight. However, even Pearl’s nauseating movements meant nothing once her position locked and Marina’s precise shots sent her back to spawn.

The car pulls up in front of a bakery with blue trim and white flowers potted outside. Umbrellas with a paint splat pattern are stuck into round metal tables and Scar runs a few fingers over the rim of one of the chairs as she follows Pearl through the door. 

It smells sweet, a heavy aroma that makes her subconsciously take a deep breath. She stares at the desserts tucked behind their glass casing, eyeing the colorful frostings and gleaming jams. Perfectly formed and organized- a teal finger pressing against the glass barrier. Her ears twitch under her beanie at the static sound of chatter and Pearl starts pointing at objects behind the glass. Scar blinks when the removal of a brownie disrupts the perfect image and her brows knit at the ruined picture. 

Scar leaves for a booth and tucks herself onto the worn seats, the crack in the fabric catching the skin of her legs. She lugs her tentacle over her shoulder and stretches her neck, wishing she could cut it short.

“Best of the best,” Pearl declares as she drops a cardboard container in front of the inkling before plopping down into the opposite seat. 

Scar grasps her fork and pokes at the cake with a hesitant touch. It’s garishly colorful, more saturated than the turf war colors. A waste of resources in so many ways.

“Oh come on,” Pearl groans, “Just try it.”

“Nothing that I put in my mouth has ever been  _ this _ pink.”

“For cod sake, just eat it! Not everything you do should be the same- can’t stay hooked into the same boring thing all the time. It will just drive ya crazy.”

Pearl eyes the inkling in front of her. Scar eyes her disbelievingly and still loosely grasps her fork in one hand. Determined and defiant, Pearl grabs her slice with her bare hands and shoves it in her mouth. 

Scar jerks when Pearl half chokes on it. The idol is barely able to breathe around the crumbs lodging themselves into every crevice and the frosting gluing it all together, but she laughs at Scar’s disgusted horror. A few pieces scatter to the table as Pearl slowly swallows bits of the cake. She eyes the child across from her as she does, a challenge glittering in her eyes.

The turquoise inkling looks back at her plate and the mesh of colors. With a defeated slump of her shoulders, Scarfish takes a piece onto her fork. She eyes it cautiously, the inside texture looking too similar to a wet nutrient block to appear appetizing. Steeling her muscles, she jams the piece into her mouth. She rolls it around in her mouth, letting the flavors settle on her tongue.

“Whellf?” Pearl mumbles through her still stuffed beak.

“It’s sweet.”

Pearl can’t get her to speak after that.

…

**“Have you seen my soror?”**

Marina looks away from her project, hands stilling over the track she was tweaking. She pulls her headphones down off her ears.

**“Say that again Eight?”**

**“My soror. I can’t find her.”**

The older octoling shrugs helplessly and smiles at the way Eight deflates, the pink tentacles drooping with disappointment. Marina turns back to her computer and saves her progress to the external hard drive hooked up to the laptop she carries between the apartment and Pearl’s family mansion. The taller girl stands and places a gentle hand on the younger’s shoulder.

**“Well then, we should go find them right?”**

Marina smiles a little wider when Eight’s hazel eyes sparkle and pink tentacles reach for Marina’s brown ones. The ends touch affectionately as Marina passes and the two make their way out of Off the Hook’s music room.

The two octolings find them by accident when Marina spares a glance out the window to the Houzuki garden. So there the two ex-soldiers crept, hiding behind a patch of flowers with camouflaged mantles wondering what the  _ shell _ Pearl and Scarfish were doing.

Pearl’s custom dualies twirl with their owner’s hands and Marina watches as the inkling starts to tuck her legs in. A stream of pink ink flings the idol across the patio, stopping just short of the fountain as Pearl steamrolls into another dodge roll. As she pauses in the fixed position, pink ink sprays past Scar who takes a cautious step to the side to avoid the spread deviation.

“Your turn.”

Scar flashes what Marina knows is her discontent, the young inkling’s mantle dulling a muted orange with her mosaic speckles turning brown. However, she turns the splat dualies in her hands (Pearl’s  _ old _ old ones from when they first came out) and starts inking. The nozzles start spraying her turquoise ink and the two octolings watch her give a little hop before her body is cartwheeled away from her spot. Pearl lurches to intervene her trajectory into the fountain, the two colliding into a heap against the fountain’s base. Pearl pulls Scar back up and taps her dualie against her hip in thought. She places one hand on Scar’s leg above the knee and the other on the girl’s waist.

“Alright, on three okay? One, two, three!”

There’s a blur as Scar is once again jerked across the patio. She stumbles into a fixed crouch, teal ink spitting out of the nozzles with ferocious strength before dying out. The inkling stands with wobbly legs before her mantle flares yellow for a single moment, but Pearl is already flaring her own ecstatic yellow- more neon than a special glow.

“BOOYAH! Ya did it squirt! First successful dodge roll!”

Scar can’t help the small smile that crosses her face. Even if it is small, a victory was always sweet.


	6. Elite Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marina has a hearts to hearts chat with Scarfish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo it's been over 6 months... sorry to anyone who had been following along to this. Looked up the Pearlina 2020 prompts and it's reviving this story. Stay tuned and stay safe

(Team Ice Cream)

“Watch- Watch out for the net…” Eight’s voice quiets and trails off as Scar sends herself hurling over Pearl’s tennis court net.

The pink octoling rubs a hand over her face and Marina smiles fondly next to her. The older octoling snickers at Eight’s mumbled curses as she starts to jump up from her chair to help her off the ground. Marina stops her with a soft hand on her elbow and stands with a stretch of her long legs. 

“Now who’s hovering?” Marina jests as they watch Scarfish peel herself off the ground. 

“She’s going to break her beak. It is different,” Eight insists with pouting cheeks at the look she’s given.

“Is it now?” Marina barely holds in the laugh trying to force its way through as Eight turns away from her with crossed arms. “Let me take a shot at it- I have medical training after all.”

Eight settles uneasily back into the metal chair, fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest. Her muscles are tense and Marina knows that one wrong move would cause her to spring up to settle the situation. Typically teasing in a way only an older sister could be, Eight ruthlessly beats Scar into the ground every video game match and turf war practice. However, she flips to brutishly protective the minute anyone else attempts to do the same. The agent’s protective steak is vicious and she doesn’t need an inkling’s hooks to cast that deadly aura around her. Her beak and glares were as stinging as any of her e-liter shots and Off the Hook has seen the victims of it.

It has become customary for Eight to drag the young inkling to Deca Tower for a few rounds of turf war. Matches that Pearl and Marina would stream between newscasts and recording sessions. The octolings they faced understood the relationship the moment the two entered a lobby when Eight would run through a checklist of reminders for Scar’s weapon of the day. Octolings knew from a young age that going after a younger soror means bringing the wrath of her older sororibus upon them like a pod of hungry orcas. Inklings, naive to the elite’s watchful eye, would head for the easy prey fumbling with her borrowed splattershot and get ruthlessly sniped through the mantle.

Pearl couldn’t make mantle or tentacle out of it. Eight could flip between curious rookie to the steel minded agent with a drop of ink to the ground. Marina had tried to talk her through it, but the culture is too disparate. Too much difference and too little similarities. The youth were abundant in Inkopolis- between the young cephalopods in the square to the hordes of children that swarmed the city during the summer, the surface was not lacking in life. How does one explain that in a world of metal and rations, new life was sparse and hard to cultivate? Each generation waned in numbers with less food to spread and less energy to spare on medicine. Therefore, the majority of octolings Marina’s age were hatched in an isolated incubator emptied of the bad eggs and would encounter their relatives in passing only. Octolings lived with their barrack mates and genetic ink was only pushed as far as octoling versus inkling. 

The conversation always ended moot. Pearl didn’t understand clinging to the only others you know- one never-changing factor that one could attach to. Not to mention the fact that Pearl grew up a single princess enclosed in her palace walls. Pearl, so used to living with only her family and so unused to having one she viewed as family not bow to her booming voice, could only find solace in the fact the Eight was doing what she thought best for Scar. Scarfish is the octoling’s sister and Eight has a vicious protective streak. Pearl’s voice can break things and she has two-inch hooks hidden in her suckers. She can’t do anything about that. Of course, Pearl barely accepts that and does so with a scowl and  _ loud  _ remarks.

Marina had to restock her painkillers because of it. She loves that loud bundle of energy but  _ cod _ is Pearl as stubborn as a clam.

The tall girl crouches down to the young inkling’s level. Scarfish has dropped one of the dualies to prod at the slightly oozing scrape across her arm.

“I suck at this.”

“No you don’t,” Marina reassures and slowly reaches out a hand, giving the inkling a chance to pull away. “You know, Pearl-”

“Flung herself down a flight of stairs,” Scarfish answers grumpily before her mantle bleaches slightly once her own tone registers. 

Her color leaks back to normal when Marina bursts out laughing, a melodic vocal jostling as she snickers and tries to cough down her voice.

“Eight thought it smart to test it out near a dash track and completely flew through the air and crashed into a wall. Right, Eight?”

“You the one who said to try the dodge roll!” Eight defends herself with a nipped pitch.

“Next to a dash track?” Marina volleys back.

“Ahm- You! Quiet!”

Despite Eight’s insistent hissing, Marina doesn’t stop her laughter. The melodic tone bouncing as Marina continues teasing Eight who is turning pinker with each jab. With one last chuckle, the tall girl winks playfully at her younger.

“Go get the medkit, will you? Also, watch your time, it’s almost two.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want you to be late,” Marina adds at Eight’s eye roll.

“You and Pearl keep wanting me out of the house. Three will wait,” the pink octoling insists as she rummages through the trunk of tennis balls and towels for the white box.

“You cried the last time you were late for a date with Three,” Marina reminds as she turns Scar’s arm toward her to better look at the scrape.

It still oozed slightly, the darker vital ink had clotted up and already started to fade to the natural color. Marina was still going to bandage it, no use risking an infection after all. If she had come back to the surface with Callie, it has only been a year at most. Who knew what Scar’s immune system was like against a new germ pool.

Marina unclasps the plastic latches of the medicine kit and unfurls the white bandage. She nips a piece off with her beak and hands the antibacterial gel to Scar. The little inkling wrinkles her nose at it because the good kinds are partly made of water so that the medicine slips below the skin, but that means it  _ burns _ to put on. Scar keeps the wrinkled expression as she unscrews the cap and slathers a layer onto her skin, ears twitching under her hat at the slight burn that it brings.

Marina’s eyes softened in sympathy and one of her long tentacles move to brush against the inkling’s shoulder, the one not covered by her mantle. The muscles stiffen for a moment but the inkling’s own tentacle sways off Scar’s other shoulder to meet her halfway through the empty space between them. The two prehensile limbs touch and Marina’s lightly wraps in an affectionate grip before falling away. Hands full with the bandages and athletic tape, the octoling gently and neatly wraps the scrapped arm. Her fingers are nimbly tying off a knot when fingers grab at one of her longer tentacles and cause her entire body to jump.

**“Sorry, sorry!”**

**“You just surprised me,”** Marina reassures as she stands up and offers a hand to pull the inkling up with her.

**“I wish I was an octoling.”**

Marina feels her body pause, brain inputting and processing and attempting to output. She sees Eight shift her glance to her and Marina can only shrug. What do you say to that?

**“You’re perfect as you are.”**

The unbelieving huff grates in Marina’s ears worse than any offkey note.

…

“For cods sake- Really? Dad!”

Pearl’s booming voice pulls the inkling’s attention away from her phone where she’s meticulously analyzing the latest clips of the X rank snipers from yesterday’s tower control. She feels Marina shift beside her as the octoling lifts her reading glasses onto her forehead. 

Scarfish curls against one of the squishy pillows, feeling her weight falling into it. She tugs at her beanie, pulling it more firmly over her ears to blot out Pearl’s voice that rushed through the living room like a tsunami.

“You can’t just- This is not the same! I am not  _ only _ impulsive, why you always hatin’ old man?... Hey, what’s up… Yeah, yeah I’m coming. Reena! I got to go out, my dad’s got something up with his doctor and his driver’s not around.”

“Yeah, yeah, go. Go!” Marina urges and leaps up from the couch to grab Pearl’s jacket as Pearl calls up her driver and stuff her feet in her sneakers.

“Okay- look I’m going to do this as fast as possible. You have that thing with the PR-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But Eight’s not here to watch-”

“I can take care of myself,” Scar’s rasps out and pulls her gaze up from her phone.

“Sorry squiddo, but I won’t hear the end of it from anyone if I had any part of leaving you alone in the house and you fell off the balcony.”

“Public spawning grounds,” Scar replies as she huddles herself under the blanket and turns back to her phone. Her mantle quivers a shocked pastel for a moment before she turns back to Pearl, “The balcony?”

“The stairs weren’t the only dualie dashing incident. Pearlie, go, we’re fine. I’ll just send an email.”

Scar flashes a bold orange and follows with splashes of greens and blues.

“No! You can’t stay here; I got to go. Don’t give Reena a hard time because we don’t have time to-” Pearl cuts herself off as her phone buzzes and her face scrunches in her aggravation, murky orange stress spots speckling her mantle. 

Scarfish shrinks into her pillow.

Marina presses her lips to her forehead and coaxes Pearl to take a breath with her. She feels the skin beneath her lips smooth and the grip on her wrist weaken. 

“We,” Marina starts with a breath as she moves her lips to Pearl’s cheek, “Will,” A peck against the skin, “Be,” the corner of the mouth, “Just fine.”

“Yeah, yeah- I’ll text you updates. Call me if you need anything. I can send one of the drivers-”

“Pearl…”

“To drive you somewhere because the bike is probably not the best for a-”

“Pearl  _ go _ !”

The octoling has to push Pearl out the door and elbow her to the elevator. Scar curiously watching the scene. Her mantle flares a surprised orange that blurs into a guilty indigo as Marina catches her staring and slinks back into the apartment. She takes a step back as the octoling crosses the threshold, back stiff as straight and Marina subconsciously waits for a submissive bow of the head. With a soft smile, Marina gently caresses the soft flesh of the inkling’s tentacle, the area above the bulb with the end of her own as she passes by to enter the kitchen.

Marina can feel the eyes on her as she pulls open the freezer and digs through Pearl’s microwave dinners and Eight’s snacks to her ice cream in the back. Carton in hand she groped around for the cabinet handle. The swings open with a moderate bang, the only noise present in Scar’s muteness.

“Would you like some, Avecita?”

Scarfish straightens at the question, but her beak stays firmly clasped, Marina glances over her shoulder, brows raised in expectation. Silence weighs down the air like thick sludge of enemy ink. 

**“Answer me, Avecita.”**

A burst of pastel red is quickly muted back into the normal turquoise. Marina’s lips twitch downward as the inkling’s face clenches in her effort to keep her color. It’s unnatural to an inkling, unnatural to cephalopods in a way, to force their color. Inklings aren’t taught to control it as octolings are; they’re expressive, hues a language all its own. Any Octarian elders that knew of the old color tongue had died off long ago. A language lost to the octarians as they geared towards machines, towards precision camouflage and uniformity against the scrambling bunch of inklings who won a war based on a bet with Lady Luck. It made Marina wonder, if octolings weren’t trained to keep their hue, if they would’ve merged better into inkling culture. Able to be seen as another creature and not the stiff, precise body of a race thought long extinct.

The clink of a bowl hitting the table causes Scar to jerk. Marina taps the chair in front of the bowl expectantly, two short knocks against the wood. She watches as Scar obediently follows orders as the inkling slips into the chair, eyes trained on Marina. Waiting for the next order.

“You might find it’s much less tiring once you let yourself be your own colors,” Marina starts as she scoops some of her ice cream into her spoon. “It’s hard to wrap your head around, but you are not on the brink of war. Take it from a former elite, Avecita. There’s no need to always be camouflaged,” Marina takes a moment to tap her spoon against Scar’s bowl. A chiming clink ringing through the air. “Not around us. We want you just as you are. You don’t need to hide your color.”

The idol lets the words settle and takes a moment to listen to the silence. Marina keeps her eyes focused on her phone and her ice cream to lessen any pressure on Scar. She is not Eight, not the one Scar sees as her soror. Marina knows better than to step onto Eight’s turf and mess with the progress the two of them had made by pressing too hard on a fragile object. So the octoling finishes her bowl and sets about dealing with their PR representative, content that she has given her ward some thoughts with her food. 

“I know we aren’t the platoon you grew up with, but, for what it’s worth,” Marina softly starts as her dirty bowl is rinsed and put in the dishwasher, “I’m happy you are part of our little shoal, Avecita.”

Feeling a little daring, Marina softly presses her lips to Scar’s forehead, rightly below the beanie and above her good eye. One of her longer tentacles wraps gently around the inkling’s hands and is softly grasped in return.

“I’ve got to talk to our PR rep for a bit. When you finish up just put that dish away.”

Scarfish releases her grip the moment Marina begins to pull away and watches the octoling leave. Fingers already flying over the screen of her phone. The sticky feeling of melting ice cream adheres to Scar’s fingers, the contents of her spoon melted away, but she cleans the liquified slush off the metal. Her mantle glowing with a rosy hue.


	7. Warm Norm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks into Scar's placement, her roommates are noticing a new normal

(Blazing Love Meteor pt 1)

Marina notices first. Perhaps she even notices it before Eight. Then again, what else would one suspect of the prodigy, Marina Ida? She feels her entire body jolt when she sees it. Like when she accidentally shocks herself when she plugs her keyboard in. Her hearts thrum in her chest and her fingers immediately dig into Pearl’s sweatshirt, her own rushing ink a song in her ears.

“YO girl I’m trying-”

“Shh shh,” Marina places a finger to Pearl’s mouth with a frantic edge, but a smile had started to split across her face. “Look at Eight, discreetly.”

With a furrowed brow Pearl does as she’s ordered, eyes falling to their corners to find Eight in her peripheral. Marina quickly slams her hand over Pearl’s mouth to muffle the surprised sound.

“Babe,” Pearl manages to whisper with her fingers curled in Marina’s collar. “Babe…”

“I see it,” Marina reassures, mouth next to Pearl’s ear.

Eight pulls her eyes away from her tablet at the muffled beat of voices. Her eyes roll back into her head when she notices Pearl trying to sink into Marina’s chest. And they had the nerve to tease her about Three when inside the apartment they had the barest amount of restraint. Eight manages to catch Marina’s eyes, brown eyes catching the former engineer’s attention. The younger octoling raises a brow at the wide-eyed stare she receives as if it was Eight who was making an odd spectacle of herself with her girlfriend. A slight tug at her sweatshirt breaks the tense staredown. Diverting her attention to her young soror, Eight returns her eyes to the screen being shoved into her lap.

**“You’re the one who wanted me to watch this with you!”** Scar warbles, voice cracking with an odd pitch that rings a little in the ear.

**“Sorry, sorry,”** Eight apologizes and readjusts her loosened grip on her tablet.  **“Okay, so here you see how they throw the bomb in one direction…”**

Eight’s words fade to the background in Marina’s ears. Her ink is still rushing too hard and too fast, the harsh staccato of her hearts. She watches as Scar’s mantle annoyed orange ripples out and melds into her natural color. The one tentacle thrown over her shoulder wraps around Eight’s arm. The arm holding the inkling close to Eight’s side as they try to get as close to the small screen as possible tightens gently. Eight’s tentacles are swaying slightly, focused but content and idly grazing Scar’s mantle as octolings commonly do in the company of their platoon. 

“I’ve never seen her let anyone do that,” Pearl mumbles from her place on Marina’s chest. The inkling looks down at her girlfriend, lips drawn back in a grin. “Shella fresh if you ask me.”

Eight mumbles at Scarfish to ignore the two idols when Marina loudly wraps her arms around Pearl and the movement causes them to fall onto the floor.

… 

Pearl notices second. She notices it when she’s half-dead and glaring at the sunlight that peers through the windows because Marina insisted on an apartment that gets the morning sun. Pearl is barely alive and has her forehead flush to the counter as Marina hums along to the radio, tapping her spatula against the edge of the pan as the eggs cook.

“Morning,” Eight chirps, peppy even when it was too cod damn early to be up. But Off the Hook has places to be and Eight is dragging Scar to Deca Towers to watch the first rounds of the Tidal League’s determining games. 

Scarfish is with her, beanie falling over her eyes and mask hanging at her chin. If she moved the right way Pearl could see the dark lines of her scar peeking from beneath the turquoise hair. She brushes past Eight, fingers releasing their hold on Eight’s sweatshirt. A new habit they noticed. Scar likes to have something in her hands. Her charger, Eight’s shirt, a gentle grip on Marina’s longer tentacle, and she’ll even grasp Pearl’s hoodie at the waist when she thinks no one is looking. Scar’s fingers brush along the edge of Marina’s hair, the tentacle twisting in acknowledgment and wrapping around the small fingers.

“Good morning, Avecita,” Marina whispers softly over the sizzle of eggs.

The kid answers in something not inkling, too many foreign sounds and vowels, before she plops into the seat next to Pearl. Pearl feels the light tug of her hoodie.

“Morning kid. You’re watching the Tidal qualifiers today, right?”

Scar flashes green, fingers still curled around the fabric of Pearl’s hoodie even as she brings her spindly little legs under her and curls up on the barstool.

“Bring a coat, Avecita, it’s getting too cold out,” Marina quips as she sets one of the plates on the island.

“Nurser,” Eight sing songs from her own seat, curled up in the pillows and sunlight.

Pearl shifts at the sound of food, body languidly preparing to move. Cod she needed an energy drink even if it meant Marina squawking at her over it until noon because she’s bouncing off the walls. Fingers start to reach for the plate, but the telltale melody of it sliding across the counter shows it's been stolen by someone else. And it’s not Eight because Eight is glued to her phone and giggling like mad at something Three must’ve said because only Three gets her like that- so it’s gotta be Scar. One peek to her left confirms her theory and she barely hears the rhythmic staccato of Marina tapping her fingers against the second plate.

She holds her tongue even though her voice is clawing its way out of her throat. Pearl sends her shoal off with a rough hug around the neck for Eight and a peace sign to Scar before violently twirling into Marina the moment the door closes.

“She ate food.”

“Pearlie what are-”

“Reena,” Pearl enanuicates with an excited thrum in her voice. A crescendo about to peak. “ _ You _ gave her her food.”

It doesn’t take long for the lightbulbs to go off in Marina’s eyes and Pearl swears that the stars had left the sky for Marina’s sparkling irises. Lost in the glow, Pearl lets out a surprised yelp when she’s lifted off the ground and spun around. Her back hits a wall as her octoling presses a smiling kiss to her mouth.

…

Those were the first two. Eight notices a few other ones. Little things. But the majesty of life is in the details. As Eight sits in the spectators stands with her soror, the young girl starry-eyed watching an e-liter provide an anchor to her team, the octoling notices the little things. 

It’s what she’s trained to do, memories or no memories. It’s ingrained to check every bolt, every box- no piece of debris left unturned. Details are important- the smallest difference in color can ruin one’s camouflage. One unscrewed bolt can make the machine fall apart. So Eight looks for details. Like the way Scar excitedly grasps at the sleeve of her sweatshirt with an insistent tug. Trying to draw attention already set on her. Eight notices the excited flush of warm, rosy red in her mantle- how patches of yellow dip and twirl below the ink membrane. She’ll have to note the colors later for reference. One shade can mean so much in the inkling’s silent tongue. 

Eight doesn’t say anything. She merely smiles at the young inkling, not caring that Scar is flashing like a broken traffic light. Other inklings are flushing similar hues, the exciting atmosphere flooding their ink in saturated colors. So Eight doubts Scar is saying anything life-altering. Eight doesn’t think Scar can hear much either, between the plugs in her ears, her beanie, and the loud rumble of the crowd around them. 

The two teams _ are _ really good and the sniper is a marvel to watch. Players are getting splatted in bursts of yellow ink seconds after Eight notices the laser. Ranked matches such as these don’t play the player’s camera feed. A slight shame because Eight could get Scar to focus more on the front line splattershot if a constant video feed was present. That’s the purpose of coming after all. Eight is still trying to show her soror how to loosen up and follow the flow of the battle’s tide. But Scar is enamored with the sniper’s high splat rate and barely interested in the team’s slayers. Her focus is drawn back to the frontliners only when the camera zooms in on conflict. Eight lets it slide. Scar is flushed with too happy a color for Eight to ruin her fun. Besides, it’s nice to see the girl flare her colors.

It’s become the norm for Eight to have an inkling replace her shadow. It’s what Eight demands in a way- because that’s what younger sororibus  _ do _ . They shadow, they watch, they learn. Learn from their elders’ victories. Learn from their elders’ failures. Information is then categorized, analyzed, and executed into their habits and routines. Eight has Scar follow her everywhere so that they can learn together. 

Eight’s at a concession stand when she notices her shadow has slunk off. She’s still in eyesight. Close enough that one clipped command would draw the child back to her side, but Scar has retreated into the crowd and her mantle has muted to a dull version of her normal bright turquoise. She’s trying to hide, to camouflage and Eight immediately scans her surroundings to figure out why.

“Aye, I’ve seen you before!”

The voice is loud and pierces through the din of excited teenagers and supportive parents. Its owner, a male inkling with a grilled texture keeping his tentacles short pops into view. The sniper from the last match is with him, watching her with a critical eye.

“You play those random ranked battles sometimes, right? E-liter main! You’ve got a wicked aim,” the inkling compliments with a toothy grin. “You like the match?”

“Yes, it was good match,” Eight answers truthfully. Her voice wanders slightly with her eyes as she tries to keep Scar in her peripheral.

“I’ve seen you play,” the sniper comments with a cooler edge to her voice. “Much respect- you thinking about joining a team? A lot of teams could use a good anchor.”

“Don’t tell her that! She ain’t replacing you and I don't want to fight her!” the boy jokes and nudges the charger main’s side.

“Ah nothing like that,” Eight states. “My sor- my sister is trying to get better with a splattershot.”

“Ah got stuck babysitting? That blows- younger siblings are annoying as shell. Never leave you alone.”

Eight stiffens at the words, fingers clenching into fists as she folds her arms across her chest. The sniper notices and stomps on her teammate's foot.

“Shut up, you idiot,” the girl hisses, “So, what’s your sister main?”

“Splatterscope,” Eight answers with glee. Voice pitched with pride, “Aim as good as me.”

“Then maybe we’ll see her around in a few years. Come on, you got to talk to the cute girl. Can we go get some warm-ups done before our next match?”

The sniper doesn’t respond to her teammate’s spluttering nonsense and drags him by his hood from the site. As the two merge back into the crowd Eight feels a presence take its place behind her hip.

**“Why did you hide?”**

**“Older teens don’t like having a kid butt into their business.”**

**“Well you’re not some kid,”** Eight insists with a hard edge to her voice,  **“You’re my little sister.”**

Eight’s amber eyes watch as Scar’s mantle ripples, ink pushing against the harsh confinement Scar sets on it. Bits of purple drop in and disappear like a ripple in a puddle. Eight makes a note to ask Pearl what that stormy purple means. The octoling unfurls Scar’s grip on her shirt to properly hold her hand.

…

Nurse sharks. That’s the only way to describe the two idols bustling around like someone lost a limb. To clarify, no one had lost a limb. Pearl and Marina are overreacting. 

However, tears do leak from Scar’s eyes and she holds her injured arm tightly to her body as Eight presses a cold pack to the area, trying to reduce swelling. Marina is rustling through the medicine bin they keep in the closet- trying to find the correct ointment and Pearl is squawking her head off in a corner because she’s the reason this happened. 

It wasn’t that big a deal, not to Eight at least. Pearl got too excited- a new song released yesterday and had already exceeded the projected sales estimate. An excited Pearl is a loud Pearl. One loud, victorious scream had rattled the apartment. Eight had no clue what Pearl was to have a voice that could cause actual damage, but it had rattled a bookshelf enough that it clipped Scar in the arm as it fell. 

Scar took it with grace, only a pained huff of air exhaled from her as the three immediately got her off the ground and into the kitchen. Eight had plopped her on the counter and grazed the slightly oozing injury. Her cartilage seemed intact and the muscles still knit together. It probably hurt like shell, hence the ice pack trying to numb the pain, but the time Scar threw herself into the wall mantle first trying to dodge roll was worse.

“Pearlie relax,” Marina pleads as she finally finds the correct ointment in the mess of packages, “It’s a scratch.”

“I dropped a bookshelf on her! Her social worker’s going to splat me!”

“I’m okay,” Scar insists as she wipes away the one stubborn tear and let’s Marina grasp her arm.

“Kid, I’m so so sor-”

“I’m okay.”

Eight helps Scar settle into her bed, adjusting pillows so that no weight is put on her arm. Marina is probably the better candidate for doing this- Eight’s more used to just pushing through her injuries. But Marina is talking Pearl down from the cliff she’s putting herself on. 

Scar’s eyes are drooping. Her body readjusting where to use her energy and the one small pain pill drawing her eyelids closed. Eight smiles and sits on the edge of the bed, watching her sister fight sleep. With slow movements, ones easy to trace even with Scar’s sleepy vision, Eight pets the girl’s forehead where her hair meets her face. She brushes the tentacle to the side, those dark scar lines obvious against the pale tint of her skin.

**“She didn’t mean to hurt me,”** Scar notes with a slur to her voice,  **“I know that.”**

**“Pearl’s just worried. This could look bad with… with the inkling who checks in on you.”**

**“I can lie.”**

Eight shakes her head, **“It was an accident. No need to worry.”**

**“You guys are safe,”** Scar mumbles with cloudy eyes and a dopey grin.  **“I know that.”**

**“That makes me happy,”** Eight whispers truthfully, hand caressing the cheek as Scar succumbs to her sleep.  **“Even if you probably won't remember telling me that.”**

When Scar wakes up it's a rumbling stomach and a dull ache in her wrapped arm. She pulls at the bandages, the scrape has scabbed by now and will fade in a few days. Long before the next visit from the social worker, so Scar won’t even mention this blip in an otherwise perfect record. 

The young inkling peers out of her room and realizes the darkness in her room isn’t just from the darkening curtains. Night has fallen on Inkopolis and the inkling’s mantle glows reflexively to cast the hallway in a blue glow. Eight’s door is closed and quiet, so Scar moves on to the kitchen to pilfer leftovers from whatever the small family must’ve eaten. A bowl is waiting for her in the fridge with a small heart drawn on the plastic wrap, a note from Marina. Scar heaves herself onto Pearl’s stool and stares blankly at the microwave as it twirls the bowl in circles and countdowns steadily toward zero. 

Scar eats quickly at the island. Not really tasting the food even though it was pleasant on the tongue. Her arm still throbbed and her head was on the verge of a headache from a lack of fluids. The girl swipes a sports drink from Eight’s stash and drowns half of it down in three gulps. Her glow blurs out her shadow as she makes her way back to her room with the rest of her drink under her arm, ready to drop onto her mattress and black out from the world.

She’s passing through the living room when she finally realizes the television is still on. Energy wasters these city folk… The inkling goes to turn the screen off when a groan interrupts the mindless noise of some soap drama. 

Pearl is curled in the middle of the couch in the same clothes she was wearing when Scar last remembers seeing her. Although anything past Eight gathering her in her arms to bring to her bedroom is a weird blur. The older inkling is fitful in her sleep, tossing and turning and mumbling nonsense. Scar’s surprised Marina left her on the couch because Pearl was clingy. She gripped any pillow or body given to her and made a fuss when she didn’t have anything like a child without their baby blanket. One of the oversized throw pillows is slumped over on the ground. Pearl must’ve lost her grip on it when Scar was in the kitchen.

Scar picks it up, ready to put it back in place. Her hands freeze on the object, squishing its fabric before squeezing it between Pearl’s arms. With precise movements Scar worms her way next to Pearl’s moving body, and barely fits in the crevice between the couch’s arm and Pearl’s back. She doesn’t care though. Her eyes are tired and her head is tired and her arm still hurts. Pearl’s warmth drives off the chill of the AC and Scar let’s her eyes drift closed. 

The two inklings are rudely awoken by Eight’s surprised yelp the next morning .


	8. Burning Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As everyone's schedules get busier with the upcoming Splatfest, Scar starts to wonder how she is going to factor in. This chapter got away from me... it was a runaway train- so if it's bad I'm sorry.

(Blazing Love Meteor pt 2)

Her social worker makes a surprise visit when Pearl is visiting her father. Which is the best outcome the rest of the household could’ve hoped for because Pearl was still a nervous wreck over Scar’s arm. Even though Scar had told her countless times she’d been through worse and the mark was only a faint dark spot on her skin. 

Scar’s social worker is a tall inkling with a long mantle and she always wore a blazer jacket no matter the season. This one is green and much too light for the winter weather and stands out like clownfish in the open ocean. The tall lady bids Scarfish a peppy hello with a voice sharp enough to splat before chatting up Marina. Marina takes it in stride, as one would expect of a Wasabi Unit soldier. Her voice remains steady to the constant stream of questions and she is expertly able to maneuver the conversation to the kitchen and away from the doorway. Scar can see the nervousness her social worker is blind to. The child can see it in the stiffness of Marina’s movements and the anxious curl of her tentacles. It’s lucky that her social worker doesn’t know any octolings or the rambling inkling would’ve been on Marina like a shark after blood.

**“At least Pearl isn’t here,”** Eight mutters and shuffles Scar toward the kitchen.  **“She’d be a rambling mess.”**

Scar doesn’t grace her soror with an answer, her mantle spotting itself with a stressed gray that pops into and out of existence with the girl’s breaths. Scar clamps her beak shut, forces her hearts to calm in her chest, and wills away the rush of ink in her ears. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Contra.” 

Marina’s voice is soft as always, a cradling tune that flows through the kitchen as she prepares tea. Scar must disagree with the statement- she wouldn’t lose sleep if she never saw her social worker again. Scar settles herself in her seat at the island and watches Eight’s cautious movements as she removes the fruit salad from the fridge. 

Scar feels the warmth in her mantle and fights to keep her color neutral. She pokes at the fruit that Eight places before her and abandons the act in favor of clinging to Eight’s sweatshirt when the octoling sits next to her in what is normally Pearl’s stool.

“Yes, yes- always lovely to see you too. Where’s Ms. Houzuki?”

“She went to see her father about the family business,” Marina answers as she pulls out a chair at the dining table and wraps her long fingers around the warm mug of tea.

“You two must be getting busy since Frostyfest is coming up. We just wanted to drop in and make sure you two were faring well.”

**“So that’s why she’s here,”** Eight mutters to Scar and smiles at the inkling when the grip on her shirt tightens.  **“No fear sister, you aren’t going anywhere.”**

Scar ignores Eight’s reassurances and focuses instead on the fruit in her bowl. The watermelon chunks were averaging three black seeds each from the surface. The ratio of berries to other fruits 2:1 and between the berries it looked more probable to randomly draw a raspberry over a blueberry. Her mind focuses on the numbers and lets the noise behind her fade to black. 

“Hey, Scarlett,” that overly cheerful voice grinds Scar’s thoughts to a stop and the numbers dissolve with the child’s concentration. “Why don’t you show me your room?”

Scarfish turns at the suggestion to find Marina guiltily clenching her vibrating work phone. Guessing that it’s the DJ’s manager, the inkling slides off the barstool and releases her grip on Eight’s shirt. Her arms cross and her hands fist at the sleeves of her shirt as she silently crosses the threshold into the hallway. She can faintly hear Marina hastily answer the cell phone, voice clipped with restrained stress.

Scar’s room is relatively generic. There’s a bed and a desk and a reading nook in one corner. A tv hangs on the wall because Pearl is fond of slapping flatscreens on any flat surface so that she can watch her video game streams from anywhere in the apartment. The desk is covered with printouts of weapon blueprints- the latest assignment Eight’s given her is to be able to take apart and reconstruct a splattershot to have ten percent better ink efficacy. As such an old splattershot Eight pilfered from somewhere, probably from Three, laid temporarily abandoned on the end table with Scar’s old toolset next to it. 

Besides the tv, the walls are bare and clean. The darkening curtains are closed and swaying in the current created by the ac, so Scar flicks the light switch on as she enters to provide some light. She settles onto the top of her pristinely made bed, each wrinkle smoothed out the moment the girl gets out of it.

“So how have you been, Scarlett?”

“Fine,” Scar answers because she can't trust her mantle to return to its normal color if she tries to use ICL. 

“Nothing you want to talk about? A placement like this must be very stressful- since Off the Hook is so popular. I just want to make sure you’re faring alright.”

Scar’s fingers dig into the comforter as her social worker prattles on, trying to pry words from her beak like a second rate therapist. Contra’s green blazer garishly contrasts with the muted blues of Scar’s room as the social worker wanders through her charge’s workspace.

“I’m fine,” Scar answers clearly because she knows better than to mumble.

“But it’s okay if you aren’t, sweetie,” Contra absent mildly kneels at Scar’s front and pats Scar’s shoulder. The girl forces herself not to flinch as the tall inkling accidentally grazes her tentacle with her own as she stands. “After how much you claimed to hate the last placement we put you in, I’m just not sure how you’ll fare with celebrities, of all inklings.”

“Cephalopods,” Scar corrects before she can stop herself.

“Right, right,” Contra agrees as she gives the blueprints a quick glance before moving on. “I just don’t want you to get too comfortable here, darling. Celebrities have very busy lives and rarely have time for their own families. And with your condition, the gossip columns would be all over you. So maybe we should consider-”

“I want to stay here,” Scar insists with a sharp clash of her beak.

There’s a silence between the two of them as Contra turns to stare at the girl before her. The social worker had never heard Scar speak so loud. It continues for a moment, the quiet sparking with tension that the sound of an alarm cuts through like a sniper’s shot.

“I’ve got turf practice with Eight,” Scar mutters and rushes out of her room. She can feel the stormy purple stress marks blotting her color.

…

Activity amped up with each passing day. Pearl and Marina were constantly blurring in and out of the apartment as the holidays grew closer. Scar is curled up on the couch when Pearl comes whirling into the living room with a jacket in one hand, her guitar case in another, and a phone between her cheek and shoulder. She’s frantically muttering to someone on the other end of the line and Marina is quick to follow her with her motorcycle’s keys jingling as she hastily grabs their helmets off the hanger.

“Pearlie, we’re late!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. YES! We’re on our way! Eight will be here in a minute to watch Scar- WE’RE COMING!” the idol screeches and Scar feels the sofa vibrate a bit with the yell. “Cod damn producers.”

“Pearlie don’t get mad at our producers,” Marina calms and taps at her screen with impressive speed, “We’re the ones that forgot to set an alarm. Avecita, we probably won’t be home for dinner so Eight will get you two something.”

“Eight answer you yet? They’re getting snippy.”

“She was only a block away anyway,” Marina responds and throws Pearl her helmet. She turns toward Scar as she shoves her arms into her warmer jacket. “Eight had a long salmon run shift and sounds real tired, so maybe you two can go over the Tidal finals another day?”

Neither waits for an answer as Marina’s phone dings with word that Eight’s on her way up. They whirl out the door the moment Eight drags her body into it with a quick goodbye. Scar’s greeting is met with a weary wave as the octoling collapses on the couch.

**“I’ll go over the videos with you later. I just… need a nap…”**

Scar leaves the room once Eight falls asleep.

…

Scar fiddles with the old splattershot with care, examining the barrel and making sure she screwed it back together correctly. 

“You’ve been working hard on that. I’m sure Eight’s going to be very impressed,” Marina compliments as she holds the car’s door open for her inklings to exit.

“Well, duh she’ll be impressed. Scar’s a prodigy,” Pearl gloats and smirks when the girl’s mantle ripples a rosy red as she rams into her shoulder.

“Don’t get rowdy. You’ll draw attention.”

That causes Pearl to settle down. Not that Off the Hook can blend into a crowd. In a city like Inkopolis, even an octoling’s camouflage can fail them. Marina and Pearl? No one could forget their faces. Even now, Scar can feel the eyes on them and how it draws eyes towards her- the little inkling clinging to Marina because Pearl just bounced around too much.

“How has your training with Eight been going?” Marina asks as they approach the practice arena and she smiles when Scar’s mantle flushes an excited yellow for a moment.

“She says I’m getting much better! And I got the splattershot to twenty-five percent bet-”

Scar is cut off when an excited inkling runs up to the duo with a marker and piece of paper in hand. She excitedly warbles a greeting and shoves the paper toward Pearl and Marina.

“One moment, Avecita,” Marina promises as she goes to tend to the fan.

It’s moments later when a gaggle of young inkling and other species have formed around the two idols. It’s minutes later when Marina feels at her pockets for her phone before grabbing at Pearl’s arm. Scar huffs at her spot from the bench as the two wave goodbye to their fans and hurries into the building to warm up. She watches them leave in their car from the waiting area.

Eight’s running late. She’s been waiting in the lobby for thirty minutes, far past the time Eight was supposed to show up. The inkling at the desk is giving her concerned looks and eyeing the doors, also waiting for her sister to show up after Scar managed to convince her to give her the room key by saying her older sister was running late. Not wanting to waste any more of the blocked off time, Scar slinks toward the training rooms on the tail of a group of teenagers. The ruse convinces the secretary who turns her gaze back to her computer as Scar creeps into the hallway and unlocks the room with a swipe of the keypad. 

Tank cleaned twice, filter replaced, and splattershot once again examined. Scar has run out of things to do and abandoned the splattershot for a terribly run down charger that the company keeps in the room. Her tool kit is sprawled out beside her as she fixes the expulsion mechanism, the screws carefully organized in the order she took them out.

Her phone is laid out beside her, face up and waiting. It’s been an hour though and anxious purple is starting to ripple through the child’s mantle. With hesitant fingers, Scar types out a message. She gets a reply twenty minutes later as she’s fixing a sticky switch- Eight got last-minute recruitment onto a random tower control team missing a player. Scar pulses a grayed-out blue and turns her phone off. She hastily puts the charger back together- the thing barely worked to begin with so if she messed up it's probably still more efficient than it was before. With half an hour left on the card, Scar leaves the room and trails another group of teens out to the lobby. She slides the card into the return kiosk.

Bored and hungry, Scar waits outside the arena debating on where to go. Training told her to wait for her soror to come collect her, or for Pearl and Marina to send a car. Yet Eight always gets stuck in ranked for hours and Pearl and Marina had a live interview. 

A burning sensation sinks into the flesh of her tentacle. A glance upward shows that heavy dark clouds have merged overhead and Scar ducks under the overhang as the rain begins to pour. She stares at her phone’s clock, debating her options and shifts her bag to keep it from falling off her shoulder. However, the extra weight pushes her to the ground as someone rushing out the door clips it. With little grace, the inkling fumbles to catch the phone that is thrown out of her hands. Scar’s mantle flares a bright red as a loud crack breaks through her muffled hearing. Using the sleeve of her jacket, Scar quickly drags her phone back to safety drenched and cracked…

**“Cicatriz? Cicatriz!”**

Kore’s voice is a comfort and a distraction from the sound of pelting rain and the acid burn of her hands. The young octoling is buzzing beside her older sister, whose name Scar doesn’t actually know because she was always called Sergeant. As such a high ranking octoling, Scar straightens her posture and dips at her waist in lieu of a greeting. 

**“Where’s your soror?”**

**“In a ranked match, Sergeant,”** Scar answers quietly and forces herself to keep eye contact as the red octoling’s eyes narrow at the statement.

“Ida and that inkling girl?” 

“Working…” Scar murmurs and tightens her grip on her bag. “I’ll just… find my way back to the apartment.”

“You’re phone broken, correct? You come back with us and we fix it. Not safe to go anywhere in the rain. And,” the red octoling adds as she unfurls her large umbrella, pulling her two young charges close to her side, “You call me Yuna.”

Kore and her sister live in a run-down street that the octolings had taken as their own. It’s orderly chaos. The clanging of metal can be heard as octolings tinker with various vehicles. Three of them wave to Kore and her sister from where they were fixing a roof next door and are trained enough to only stare at Scar for a moment.

“Come inside, Cicatriz.”

“You don’t need to speak inklish, Sergeant,” Scar comments as she gently drops her bag beside the door and peels her damp jacket off her skin. 

“I am not sergeant anymore. Kor-kor, go get blanket. She’s too wet,” Yuna commands and waits for Kore to obediently whirl out of the room before addressing Scar again, “Have to get used to it. Try to use it a lot with others.”

“You’ve always been Sergeant,” Scar said as she kicks her wet sneakers off and pulls her mask off her face. “And you’re older than me- it’s weird to call you your name. We aren’t sororibus.”

“It very different here, Cicatriz. I am the soror of anyone who needs me. If you have too, call me Oraclum. Better?”

Scar hmms in agreement and accepts the blanket that Kore shoves into her hands. The pink octoling gives her a large smile and points at her bag.

“I see?”

“Kore don’t- dont,” Yuna struggles for the word, “ **Don’t snoop.”**

“It’s a splattershot I had to fix up for Eight,” Scar answers and unzips the bag to reveal the beat-up splattershot. She shoves it at the pink octoling, “You are better at shooters. What do you think?”

Kore’s eyes light up and the young octoling immediately goes to inspect it. She plops herself on the floor, energy redirected and concentration locked. She’ll be like that for a while, they both know it. So Yuna mutters something about a drink and Scar follows her with the blanket wrapped tightly over her bare arms. As Yuna brews tea in an old fashion kettle and preps her mixture of loose tea leaves, Scar examines her cracked phone with a tiny screwdriver. The tiny screws are left to precariously roll on the wooden table as Scar examines the guts of the machine.

“Fix it?”

“I’m no good with tech,” Scar admits. If it wasn’t a weapon, the inkling was borderline useless in anything besides basic maintenance. 

“It is not your focus,” Yuna reassures and leans over her shoulder to examine the phone’s wires and pieces. “Water damaged at the least. Its chip is ruined. Do not think anyone has right parts.”

“Guess I won’t be getting a ride,” Scar tries to jest, but Yuna’s expression is stony and her tentacles stiff and curled at the ends.

“I’m going to talk to your soror about this. Not acceptable- too dangerous.”

“It’s- I’m okay by myself, Oraclum. I’ve been by myself in Inkopolis a lot.”

“Not acceptable. Can be dangerous. You are too small,” Yuna declares hotly and with stiff Octarian pride and teachings embroidered into her words. “Young life precious- she been here too long if she forget that. We will walk with you once water stops falling.”

Scar gulps and accepts the cup of tea presented to her, a shame flooding her mantle and causing undercurrents of deep turquoise to flush her skin even as her mantle remains unblemished. 

…

Pearl’s face hurts and her arms are tired of swinging around. She’s craving a gallon of coffee or a nap on top of her girlfriend. The girlfriend who's attempting to rub away the tension building in between her eyes after all the flashing lights.

“Cod, I’m ready to go home,” Pearl moans as she drops onto the couch of their dressing room.

She’s sprawled across the majority of it, but Marina drops onto the little bit of cushion she leaves empty and rubs the knots out of her shoulders.

“We just need to greet the fans outside the studio on our way out. Then we’re free and can get back to our girls. Get some food.”

“FOOD!” Pearl exclaims and turns suddenly, forcing Marina to pull her hands away, “They starve us, babe. I need way more than a sandwich and the water they shove at us!”

Marina giggles at the exaggeration and pulls Pearl up into a sitting position. Her eyes squeeze shut when Pearl lunges upward to place a sloppy kiss on her nose.

“Eck, you’ll ruin the make up!”

“Ya don’t need it,” Pearl comments offhandedly. “We’re done anyway! So get out of that crop top and into your jacket. I want to see Scar and hear her ramble about her day with Eight.”

“What, don’t enjoy the view?” Marina asks slyly as she steps behind her changing curtain where her outfits are hanged.

“You complain about that damn shirt almost every time you wear it,” Pearl retorts with a muffled huff as she pulls her own dress over her head with little care and dives into the pile of clothes she left on the ground to find her hoodie.

“That’s because it’s scratchy and they said I can’t get a new one until the designer gets back from vacation!”

“You could, I don’t know, wear something else.”

“And not get to see that silly face you make at me,” Marina smirks as she steps out from behind her changing partition in a warm sweater and comfortable pants, “No way.”

“Shut your beak, Ida,” Pearl mutters with a flush as she peels off her fingerless gloves.

“You should put your clothes on the hanger so they don’t wrinkle.”

“No one cares, Mar,” Pearl groans as her girlfriend straightens her hoodie to try to soothe the wrinkles. “Leave me alooonnee! I want to go home, swallow an entire chicken, and plop myself on the couch.”

“We could get take out from Sandy’s.”

There’s a pause as Pearl considers the request.

“Yeah, let’s do that. Call the kids.”

“Eight’s only a few years younger than us, Pearlie and they always order the same thing. Let’s just call it in now.”

“Yeah but what if Scar wants like, stuffed clams?”

Marina rolls her eyes at the rebuttal but digs her phone out and calls Eight as Pearl gathers their belongings. It rings steadily in her ear and Pearl’s humming to the music that is bouncing through the halls. Her hand tightens as the line connects audio.

“Hey, Eight. What do you guys want from Sandy’s? We’re on our way out.”

Pearl’s got melodies stuck in her head. The four-four time of the song meshing with half thought out harmonies that have been bouncing around her head for days. She walks in beat, her steps a metronome with Marina’s soft voice her harmony. A song that is abruptly cut short as Marina stops her walking, pulling Pearl’s weight backward, and screeches.

“NO, she's not with us! We left her at the training arena. It’s Wednesday, Eight! … Call her right now!” Marina hastily hangs up and starts running toward the exit, Pearl flailing behind her, “Eight forgot she was supposed to meet Scar. She hasn’t heard from her in hours.”

“Did you call her?” Pearl asks as Marina bypasses their questioning security and flings herself onto her motorcycle.

“Eight just texted me- It went straight to voicemail. Come on, we gotta go.”

…

“I don’t know how to get back,” Scar admits with a shameful muddy red tinging her mantle as she stares at the train station’s map. “I only ever focused on being able to leave…”

“It’s okay, Cicatriz,” Yuna pats the inkling’s shoulder. “You got coins? There’s a phone station near the ticket stand.”

“They won’t answer a random number. They told me to never answer a number that wasn’t there's. Crazy fans and all that.”

Yuna’s shoulders droop for a moment before the octoling squares them back with a determined breath.

“All right. Come on, let’s regroup-”

“Wait! I can call Eight’s girlfriend- she doesn’t keep any numbers in her contacts. Just, give me a moment,” Scar hastily adds, mantle a guilty green as she dips away from the peeved octoling.

…

Eight meets Pearl and Marina at the training arena. Pearl’s mantle is rippling with anxious purple and bursts of guilty green underneath the hood of her sweatshirt.

“I’m terrible,” Eight mutters, tentacles curled up to their roots as her incisor dug into her lip.

“We shouldn’t have left her here alone either,” Marina attempts to comfort as Pearl attempts to call Scar again for the third time.

“Cod damn it!” the inkling hisses and shoves the useless device into her pocket. “What’s the chance she got home on her own?”

“Scar doesn’t know how to get home,” Eight disagrees.

A silence seeps into the air, but nervous electricity keeps ink rushing and mantles wriggling. Pearl’s tentacles swayed with her anxious bouncing and she can feel her aggravated hooks trying to push at their sheaths. Her fingers mutely tap on her arm, increasing with speed with each fast-paced breath that gets out as a loud huff. Marina doesn’t move to calm her, her own hands clasping her smartphone and her long tentacles twisted up to her face.

“We got to call someone.”

“No! The inkling will make her leave,” Eight yelps and grasps Marina’s arm.

“Eight-” Marina is cut off as Eight’s ringtone cuts through the air.

“He-hello. Three… What? S-she what? Yeah- yeah we’re going right now! Thank you so so so- Huh? Yes, yes! Bye!” Eight stumbles through the call and grabs at the two idols, hooking her arms through their elbows. “Scar called Three from the Booyah Train Station. Hurry!”

Pearl’s adrenaline is running low by the time they manage to fall out of Pearl’s car outside Booyah Base’s station. Her arms are limp from all the crazy motions she pulls for the camera. Her legs are jelly from running around looking for her kid and she needed food an hour ago. The trio drags themselves through the glass doors of the train station and Eight once again drags them past the ticket counter to the benches near the payphone.

The red octoling from the Jr Turf match is sitting on the bench with Kore sprawled over one side and Scar curled up against the other. An old blanket wraps around the little inkling, keeping her safe from the drafts of winter air that came in with the train and with each creature that came through the doors. Agent Three is leaning against the wall by the payphone. The green inkling straightens when the three of them enter her view and pushes off the wall.

Marina notices how the red octoling pulls her two charges closer to her body, eyes watching Three as she approaches Eight. Scar blinks her eyes open and starts to sit up, hearts starting to pound up into her throat as she tries to remember where she is. A gentle hand taps her shoulder three times and gently pushes her into a sitting position.

**“Calm, Cicatriz.”**

“Scar!” Eight yelps with excitement and lets go of her girlfriend to grab her soror in a hug.

However, Yuna lets out a displeased hiss and bumps the young inkling behind her with her hip as she stands in front of her. Eight stumbles back a step when she collides with the other octoling and questions Yuna with a wide-eyed stare.

**“You and I are going to have a talk about why you left your soror by herself in the rain.”**

**“Hey now, it was a mistake,”** Marina states in a soothing tone, trying to soothe the mounting tension.

**“This sort of mistake would’ve gotten your soror placed with another platoon,”** Yuna hisses.  **“You have been here too long if this is how you mentor.”**

**“I’m okay,"** Scar tries to insist. She grabs at the red octoling’s coat to force her attention away from Eight.

**“You being okay is irrelevant. Even if we aren’t in the domes- there are too many dangerous things that can happen to a child in this city. Especially one like you, Cicatriz.”** Yuna frowns, worry wrinkling her brow as she runs a gentle hand over Scar’s beanie.  **“Cee would never have let this happen”**

Yuna casts a slight glare at Eight once she turns away from Scar to face the trio again. Pearl hasn’t a clue what the octoling was saying, but she’s pretty sure someone was getting insulted. Which isn’t fresh and if Eight’s face got anymore pouty Pearl was going to throw punches. No one gets to make  _ any  _ of her girls cry!

**“It won’t happen again.”** Marina’s voice is clipped and Pearl can tell by the way her tentacles were writhing at the tips that whatever she really wanted to say was resting on the tip of her tongue.

**“If this happens again, I won’t stand for it. Cee wouldn’t and I’ll step into her place if you violate such a sacred duty again.”**

**“Come on Yuna,”** Kore pipes up,  **“Ida was a general in the Wasabi Unit-”**

**“The Wasabi Unit had no part in mentoring its members. Besides, Ida hasn’t been a general for a long time.”**

**“But-”**

**“Kore.”** Kore quiets and Yuna returns her attention to Scar.  **“You know where we are. You come straight to us if something happens, okay Cicatriz? Even if we aren’t there, any of the others will keep you safe.”**

**“I can protect her just fine!” Eight insists, “I’d never let anyone hurt her.”**

Yuna doesn’t answer, but Pearl knew that look meant she trusted Eight’s words as much as Pearl was trusted to not destroy the drinking glasses during Splatfest. Which was little to none. The two’s staring contest is broken as Yuna turns away and looks to Scar. She fists a hand over her chest, centered between her hearts, and gives the inkling a nod.

**“Blessed be, Cicatriz. May the tide be telling.”**

**“Blessed be, Oraclum. May your wisdom guide you,”** Scar chants back as she mimics the hand motion.

Yuna nods in approval and offers the inkling one last shoulder pat before she starts moving toward the exit. Kore is anxiously biting at her lip as her older soror walks away and nervously grabs Scar’s hand.

“Sorry, sorry! She isn’t looking for a fight, promise. You know how Yuna can be. She’s a- a-”

“A traditionalist,” Scar interjects. “It’s okay… You’re very lucky. To have been able to be reunited with your sister and have her become your soror.”

“Yes! Yuna is the most good soror I could’ve prayed for!”

A pitched chirp sounds through the air and Kore stiffens to attention. “Okay. I go before she is angry.  **Blessed be, Cicatriz.** ”

“Blessed be, Kore,” Scar mutters as they bow with a hand to their chests. “Stay out of trouble- I want to see your team win your Jr tourney.”

“Hah! As if we’d lose!” Kore chirps as she bounces back to Yuna’s side. She throws her arms up and chirps insistently. Scar can see the red octoling roll her eyes as she concedes. Yuna grabs Kore around her waist as she shifts, a blob of pink ink curling into her arms and melting against her torso. Yuna throws her head back as octoform Kore crawls into the hood of Yuna’s jacket.

“If she didn’t just chew us out,” Pearl grumbles, “That’d be cute.”

“Let’s just go home,” Eight pleads as she grabs Scar’s hand. She looks her soror into the eyes for a moment before she throws her arms around the inkling and pulls her in for a hug. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” Marina admits and crouches to Scar’s eye level. “So, I’m sorry too.”

Pearl glomps herself into Scar and Eight’s hug, elbowing Eight to the side so she can shove her face into Scar’s. “Sorry, kid. Even if we are shella busy we should’ve made sure our girl was all set.” Pearl latches her arms around the inkling’s torso, lifting her off the ground in a bear hug. “Come on, let’s go eat junk food for dinner and pass out before our manager wrings us out for bailing on the meet and greet.”

Scar is put back on the ground and is shuffled into the warm interior of the car. She’s curled into Pearl, simply because Pearl’s sweatshirt is the softest surface. The other inkling is already on her phone- ordering too much food from Sandy’s. Marina is trying to soothe things over with their manager, free hand poking Eight in the side to get her to laugh. Her eyes are tired and her clothes were still damp from the rain. With drooping lids she curls tighter into a ball and wonders how long this will last.


	9. Tame Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are running high through the apartment and Scar isn't handling it very well. Read the end notes for explanations about bobtail and hierarchy in this story because it will clear stuff up that won't get touched on until future chapters.

(Dear Senpai part I)

“Why not?!” Scar exclaims at Eight’s denial.

“I can not go with you. You don’t go,” Eight answers firmly as she turns her gaze back to the vegetables she was slicing.

“It’s Kore’s tournament and they want me as their reserve. It’s ten minutes from the train!”

“I said no,” Eight hisses and swipes the cut up cucumber into the salad bowl.

“What are you two yapping about?” Pearl yells as she enters the room with Marina close on her heels.

“Eight’s being dumb,” Scar mumbles as she pulls her mask over her mouth. “I’m going to Kore’s match on Friday.”

“ ‘Kay,” Pearl answers and throws her arms up when Eight swirls on her and clicks her beak angrily, “What’d I do?”

“She can not go! I told her no!”

“I’m not by myself! It’s a public tournament and Oraculum Yuna already said she’d meet me at our train station!”

“I said-”

“Okay you two.” Marina’s voice cuts through the arguing like a blast of enemy ink. “Stop your fighting. Scar can go- just make sure your phone’s charged and the ringer is on. Don’t go ignoring our calls,” the idol warns. She places a gentle hand on Eight’s shoulder,  **“Let her breath, Eight. She’s not going anywhere.”**

“It’s at Albacore right? Don’t drop it in the pool. It’s waterproof but I dont think it’s _ that _ waterproof,” Pearl teases and nudges Scar as she passes her to get to the fridge. 

“Not planning on it,” Scar mumbles as she heads to the door and ties her sneakers with precise hands. “So can I go to Ammo Knights now or do I need a babysitter there too?”

Pearl feels her brows raise on their own accord and she can feel Eight seething next to her. Marina is stalling, asking evasive questions that are given curt answers and needing more questions to actually figure out  _ why _ Scar is deciding to ditch them today. Again. As if Scar hasn’t accepted any excuse to make herself scarce. Be it turf practice or a dedication to a friend Pearl didn’t even know she  _ had,  _ Scar hasn’t been around anyone in the house for longer than three hours. When she was home and not helping some octoling Pearl is ninety percent sure she barely knew, fixing her charger for the third time this week, or tinkering her new splattershot out of regulation, the inkling holed herself up in her room with homework for online classes that didn’t start back up until the new year.

It is driving Marina into a frenzied panic. Which Pearl can understand. Marina has never really had a problem explode in her face- not like Pearl has. Progress to an octarian is linear, start to finish, from A to B. There’s no going sideways or cutting corners or even worse, taking steps back! Yet here they were, almost straight back at start with a child that had little interest in them.

Marina runs out of questions and slumps when a moment of silence spans the kitchen. There’s always a moment of silence- like a silent mourning is occurring between the two parties. It always fades. Scar grabs her items and shuts the door with a click.

Eight warbles next to Pearl. A frustrated, throaty sound that gurgles out of her beak and plumes in the air like smoke. The octoling lets out a string of words, none that Pearl can understand. It’s a cacophony in her ears, clashing against the tense air and echoing off the walls.

“Well that didn’t sound friendly,” the inkling jokes as she finally pulls out a drink from the fridge. 

“Come on Eight. Don’t be so mean to her,” Marina chides even though she’s rubbing her hands against her temples and trying to perk herself up. “Scar’s not antagonizing you on purpose.”

“Yes, she is!”

“No, she isn’t,” Pearl interjects and ignores the bite of Eight’s stare. “She’s just pissed and letting off steam. Look, everyone’s just a little raw lately and we’re all stepping on each other’s toes.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“She’s probably still mad about, ya know? When kids get mad at their family, they bad mouth them to their friends until they feel better. I’ve bet you ranted to Three about us plenty of times.”

“N-no,” Eight stutters out unconvincingly. “I, but… we- we said the apologies. I already feel bad because of it…”

Marina offers the octoling a pat on her shoulder, tentacles grazing Eight’s as the younger octoling pouted and crossed her arms over the chest. 

**“Give her space, Eight. She’ll come back to us eventually.”**

Eight nodded, but her fingers drive into the soft skin of her arm. She’s not sure she believes that.

…

Ammo Knight’s is as boring as ever. She came to get new filters and pieces to fiddle with her charger’s propulsion (she really wanted to fix its kickback force). Sheldon rambled on about regulations, tried to convince her to let him make her a copy of the charger she’s already got so that her current one could be maximized beyond turf’s regulations. Scar lets the words flow in and out. If she really wanted a modded charger she’d gather up a few octolings from before and tinker it herself. She’s here for a distraction and materials. 

Scar fumbles through her jacket for her money, her rewards from some random c rank matches. She avoids rank for the most part. Too many eyes. Too much light flashing before her eyes and jeers. Taunts for her size, or her outfit. Questions… so many questions. Teammates who wouldn’t know teamwork if it slapped them in the face and teammates who’d rather get themselves splatted than make a retreat or a flank. Too much ink, sludging through her body and pushing her out no matter how she clung to her own skin. Ink gurgling like dying breaths as she respawns; air choking its way out of her throat as her lungs collapse and inflate. 

“You okay?”

Scar blinks, rubs at her throbbing mantle, and shooed away this false concern. Sheldon may appreciate Scar for her mind and her ability with a charger, but she’s still a customer he’s trying to wring cash out of. Sheldon keeps on blabbering and it’s fortunate that he’s proficient with weapons because he is not good with other creatures and their social cues. He asks about her matches, because it’s the only way Scar can have hands on her own money. Eight and her share a sleek, black card with gold lettering and the Houzuki emblem in the corner. He asks about Frostyfest and finally bites his tongue when Scar finally looks him in the eyes.

The bell above the door sounds and Scar stiffens as a mosaiced purple mantle flares brilliantly in the glare of sunlight from outside. It’s another bobtail, the mantle being the biggest teller. Scar gathers her things and moves to clear the way. 

“Well, if it isn’t little Scarlett. It’s been a while, hasn’t it cousin?”

Scar doesn’t answer and avoids the other bobtail’s eyes as she slings her charger over her shoulder.

“You didn’t forget how to speak while you were away, did you? Where did you even go? After the uproar your parents caused, everyone was scurrying around trying to fix their mess,” the bobtail fiddles with the bulbs of her mantle and it glows a luminous purple under her touch. “Do you have any idea what kind of problems you are causing, little girl?”

Scar walks around her, giving her a wide berth as she makes her way to the door. Sheldon is nervously wringing his hands before him on the checkout counter, ever a true neutral. 

“How did some defect like you even get near a Houzuki? I mean, I guess a bobtail is a bobtail to most socialites. But, depending on who you ask, you aren’t considered a bobtail at all.”

Scar lets the door close behind her as gently as she can and thanks the predecessor that the fogged glass keeps the stress spots bleaching her mantle from the others’ eyes.

…

Eight curses as the lock holding the door closed refuses to budge. Her tentacles curl at her chin. She can hear Scar from her room next door. The inkling had kicked the wall, multiple times. No soundproofing is going to muffle the force of a trained soldier ramming her leg into the wall full force. 

**“Scar, open up,”** Eight calls through the door.  **“I know you’re awake. If that kick woke me up, it woke you up too.”** More silence… The octoling snaps her beak in irritation. She returns to her room to grab her hair clip and returns to her soror’s door, ready to pick the lock. The doorknob clinks as she starts, wiggling the sharp end and trying to hear the click.

**“Stop. I don’t want to talk.”**

“You are being stubborn,” Eight hisses through the door dividing them. 

Scar can hear her walk back to her room. Her mantle glows a pulsating gray, lighting illuminating storm clouds. The wood of the door bites into her back and Scar picks at the piece of paper littering her floor, knocked off her desk when she scrambled to turn a light on to get rid of the consuming darkness of her room. The inkling gets up, rubs a hand over her aching mantle, and opens the dark out curtains to let the moonlight shine in. There’s barely any light to speak of, the moon a mere sliver in the sky. It’s still better than complete darkness, so Scar turns off her lamps and piles herself on top of her mess of blankets, hugging her pillow to her chest.

Marina woke up when she heard Eight angrily stomping down the hall to barge into their room. The octoling lands on the bed facedown with a huff, body deflating of energy.

“Huh? What’s going on?” Pearl jolts awake as her body is flung up by Eight’s weight. 

“You try. I’m done for night.”

“What happened?” Marina yawns and sits up, rubbing the soreness from her eyes.

“She kick my wall with force of a splat bomb and refuses to answer the door.”

“Get in,” Marina commands and pulls the rest of Eight onto the large mattress. “I’ll go try.”

“She’s real pissy today,” Pearl warns and starts to get up too. “Let me do it. If she snaps at me at least I won’t cry.”

“I’ve handled worse than a little girl,” Marina bites back and ignores Eight’s whine at more fighting.

“No one can handle kids. They’re more brutal than anything else. Go to sleep for once in your life. I’ll do it.” Pearl doesn’t wait for an answer and grabs her girlfriend around the waist. She drops all her weight to drag Marina back into the bed, barely avoiding getting crushed by a girl twice her height because Marina’s gangly arms catch her fall. The inkling ignores the offended click and throws herself onto her feet before Marina can protest. “You can stay Eight. If this goes well, we’ll either all dog pile into the bed or I’ll stay in Scar’s room. Cod, why can’t she be normal and just crawl into our bed if she gets nightmares…”

Pearl Houzuki is not a morning person. Nor is she a get up at three in the morning person because her stubborn brat is refusing to allow someone to freaking comfort her. She swears to thank her father for dealing with her bullshit, even if his solution was throwing money at stuff and awkwardly sitting them down in the kitchen at two am with hot milk. He tried at least, and got her her own personal driver when she got really pissy so she could get herself to Mount Nantai. Her knock is clear and full of the overwhelming force Pearl Houzuki exudes.

“All right kid, open up,” Pearl blurts out around the yawn. “Come on Scar. It’s like three forty. We don’t got to talk or anything, but open the damn door. Carp, Mar told me to stop swearing around you. Shit, wait I’m fucking- Cod I’m bad at this…” The door opens as Pearl is mumbling expletives to herself and the faint glow of Scar’s mantle reflects off the knit of her beanie. “You wear that when you sleep?”

Scar doesn’t answer, she’s already crawling back into the bed and drawing the pillow over her head. Pearl perches herself on the foot of the bed, back against the wall, and they sit in silence. She’s not sleeping, her breathing is too measured. In for three, out for four. As constant as a metronome. Scar’s not even looking at her, but Pearl dyes herself pink and pulsates calming ripples of blue through her mantle. She looks like a cotton candy machine, but one thing Scar and Pearl have in common is that they like pink.

…

“Babe, you need to get home,” Pearl’s voice cackles like radio static through Marina’s phone. “They’re yelling at each other and I have no fucking clue what they are saying.”

Marina can hear if faintly in the background. The fighting a white noise accompanying Pearl’s voice.

“What the hell happened? They were fine when I left!”

“You think I fucking know?!” Pearl’s words are hushed and rushed. “I was literally trying to figure out the harmony and googling rhymes then all of the sudden the second Great Turf War started. They ain’t speaking inklish, I can tell you that much. Can you please get home? I tried to stop them and Eight nearly bit my head off.”

“I’m coming, Pearlie,” Marina reassures as she pulls out her motorcycle keys.

The moment Marina opens the door, her ears are already ringing.

**“I’m trying to help you!”**

**“I don’t want your help!”**

Pearl latches onto her the moment she enters the living room. She scrambles up Marina’s side and her girlfriend moves to support her weight.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do!”

“It’s okay. I’ll figure this out,” Marina soothes as Pearl lands onto the floor.  **“Stop it. Stop it! Yield! Both of you!”**

The command quiets the room as both of them halt their assaults on each other. Eight’s tentacles are curling to her ears, twisted and writing like snakes preparing to strike. Scar’s as uncomposed as Marina’s ever seen her. Her mantle is flushed a bright red, and her mosaic spots darken orange. The inkling’s entire mantle is stressed with freckles of white and her skin has taken on a blueish hue, ink rushing to her head and defensively inflating her mantle as she tries to puff herself up.

“What is going on?”

“Kore’s invited me to stay with her tonight and Eight won’t let me go.”

“No! I say you should stop and think!” Eight counters and crosses her arms over her chest. “You have bad dreams all week and refuse to get help! You are not thinking!”

“I can think just fine,” Scar growls and her mantle flushes a darker red.

“That’s not what Eight-” Marina tries to intervene as both of them straighten like they’re heading to war.

“I’m not… I’m not dumb,” Scar hisses at Eight and digs her fingers into the mask hanging around her chin. “I can handle myself just fine.”

“I’m your soror. It’s my job to look out for you. I’m suppose to fix-”

“I never asked you to fix me! I never asked you to be my soror!” 

Marina can hear Pearl facepalming herself and drop onto the couch, waiting for the bomb to go off. Scar is puffing up again, mantle flooding with ink.

“I never asked for any of this! You think I wanted to be here. I was dragged back up here by you stupid agents. I got dragged away from my platoon, from my sororibous, and placed in that dumb- that dumb group home.” Scar’s mantle pulsates a wave of dark blue, flushing out the red with a current of depressing indigo. “I didn’t want to be dragged around by some… some pop stars with a guilt complex! I’m not broken!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Pearl starts and grabs at Scar’s wrist because somebody looked ready to shove someone.

Scar is tugged away from Eight and her mantle flares the darkest indigo Marina’s ever seen. She twists violently in Pearl’s grip and her weight hurls her toward the ground. Marina winces as she clips the table on her way down and Pearl scrambles to catch her before she collides with the floorboards. Pearl’s bulbs reach out to try to suction onto Scar’s shoulders to keep her upright. There’s a violent glow as Scar lights up. It floods Pearl’s vision. Stings her eyes. She unlatches her grip instinctively.

Pearl gags on her own saliva as her gut suddenly hits her throat. Scar’s kick pushes the two away from each other.

“Pearl!”

“I’m okay! I- wow you pack a kick for having such spindly little legs. What the shell?” Pearl wheezes out as Marina pulls her onto her feet.

They all turn to Scar, whose mantle is bleached a muddy gray. It’s Eight who approaches her, because Marina is trying to keep Pearl from doing anything stupid. Eight feels wrong walking toward her like this. Scar’s backed against a wall and her only exit is behind Eight. It’s cornering and Eight already feels bad for a lot of things. For yelling at her and for reading signs wrong and a lot of other things, but she hates cornering her like she’s prey. She isn’t prey, but even Eight will admit she feels too much like a predator.

**“It’s okay, little sister,”** Eight cooed as softly as she can manage.  **“You got scared. It’s okay.”**

Eight tries to reach a hand out, but the child’s mantle flares up again.

“Eight, get back!” Pearl yelps because Scar’s tentacle is within striking distance and, even if she’s small, inkling hooks hurt worse than any turf war scrape. “She’s scared and might hook you. I’m good Mar, I’ve taken worse than a kick to the gut.”

“You sure?” Marina worries as she let’s Pearl stand on her own.

“Yeah, I was dumb. I’d sock someone too if they grabbed me like that.” 

“I don’t want to be here,” Scar mumbles and Eight stops trying to coax her away from the wall. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Okay, okay,” Marina gently nudges Eight aside because, sororibus or not, Scar’s probably still mad at Eight. Eight backs down with less of a fight than Marina expects, but her muscles are twitching anxiously and Marina thinks Eight is realizing that she can’t really fix this. “Why don’t we call Yuna and Kore? Are you okay with that?”

Scar gives a shaky nod from where she’s curled up against the wall and Eight goes to make the call. Eight has a bag packed and holds it in a loose grip when the red octoling shows up with her younger sister. Kore plunges past the two of them and plops herself on the floor next to Scar, mouth already moving a mile a minute. Kore pats Scar’s knee and that’s enough to prompt her to stand when the other does. Yuna takes the overnight bag and slings it over one arm, ignoring Scar’s insistence she can carry it. The veteran soldier makes a clucking noise from the back of her beak and the two siddle beside her. All the motions muscles memory.

**“Alright you lot, move it. First one down the stairs gets the chocolate bar I have hidden in the house.”**

Kore zips off like a bullet and Scar follows simply because she wanted to get away from the eyes. Yuna waits for them to get out the door before she turns to the others.

“Don’t look so hurt.You have been good,” Yuna pats Eight on the shoulder, “Cicatriz has much fear of many things.You ask for help with no pride fighting you.” Her eyes turn to Pearl, who is still cradling her stomach. “Legs or fists?”

“Huh? Oh, she kicked me.”

“Mmm,” Yuna hums in acknowledgement. “You most likely too close with your bulbs. Hooks… she’s has much fear of hooks.”

“Yeah, I figured. Tried to keep her from falling and grabbed her with my suckers. Speaking of hooks, watch out for them because inklings can’t really control them if they’re stressed.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuna asks as her face scrunches up. Her face flattens but her brows remain furrowed. “Are you not knowing? Cicatriz has no hooks. They were removed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some context I really wanted to get in before this chapter but haven't been able to. 
> 
> Bobtails are a genus of squid that can glow, a very rare trait among squid species with the only other very noteworthy one being the firefly squid. Here, bobtails are a race of inklings that can glow whenever they want, which actual bobtails can't, but let's write it off as creative liberty. In this verse, bobtails were historically seen as blessed beings and have carried that prestige into the modern mollusk era. They're typically old money and very high society inklings with strict rules about appearance and what is considered a true bobtail very similar to pedigree animals (particularly natural ink color and spot patterns). The inkling Scar ran into is her genetic cousin and she knew her from before she was sold to the domes. She considers Scar defective because of her coloring, purple or indigo is considered the 'standard' and her turquoise ink can be seen as a defect or "cross breeding". 
> 
> Scar's hooks got removed by the research facility that bought her simply because they hurt a lot. This is one of the reasons why, in the last chapter, Yuna gets so mad at them leaving her alone because she lacks the most common defense mechanism for inklings.


	10. Price Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the dust settles, everyone gets some priceless words. Featuring: Yuna who is done with everyone's bull and Three: who is, surprisingly, good with words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dear Senpai prompt was supposed to be one or two chapters max, but now it's possibly heading toward four chapters. All aboard the angst train. Comfort station is somewhere around here.

(Dear Senpai II)

Kore is dead to the world. She’s condensed into her octoform and snuggled into the crevice created by Yuna’s shoulder and the couch. Small trills echo from her gill slits, the closest sound to a snore an octopus makes. Scar leans her back against the couch. Yuna runs a hand over the inkling’s mantle.

**“You never told them?”**

Scar shakes her head, the glowing mantle throwing meek shadows across the room. She curls inward. Grips the fabric of the blanket tighter around her body and moves to cover her mantle. Yuna grips it gently, pulls the blanket back to her shoulders, and away from the bare mantle.

**“You should let the skin breathe when you can. Are you going to be able to compete tomorrow? Your mind is not well.”**

**“I’m fine,”** Scar insists even as her shoulders droop and her mantle shines brighter.

**“Cee would not like to see you like this. If they are not good for you, you can leave.”**

**“Leave to where? Government is different here. I’d never get put with any of you guys… They’re good, Oraclum. I’m just- I’m just no good.”**

Scar lets out a muffled yelp when the leg next to her knocks her over. Yuna’s brown eyes glare at her through the dark. The octoling can’t move, not without displacing Kore in the position. So she settles with a disappointed look.

**“If you were no good, Cee would’ve left you to die. Do not say these things about yourself.”** Yuna nudges Scar’s body with a foot.  **“You’re very impressive, Cicatriz. Whoever is making you feel worthless is wrong.”**

**“What am I to them? I’m a coward. I want to do nothing but hide,”** Scar pulls the blanket over her body and curls up against the pillow that had fallen on the floor.  **“I’m never going to be able to be a front liner like Eight wants. I’m nothing compared to combat engineer, Marina Ida, who was second in command of the** **_Wasabi_ ** **Unit. Even if the Houzuki clan wanted a bobtail in their family, other bobtails don’t even consider me-”**

**“Quiet,”** Yuna hisses.  **“That isn’t why they keep you around. A soror’s job is not to make a soldier** ,” Yuna’s voice softens as she leans over to gently pet Scar’s mantle. It ripples under her touch, unused to the foreign feeling. 

**“I kicked Pearl.”**

**“I noticed. They don’t care.”**

**“They should. I do… They still have no reason to keep me around.”**

**“Yes, they do. Come on, get up here, and go to sleep. Can I call them on your phone?”**

The inkling nods as she is dragged onto the couch, an arrowhead squid plopping next to Kore and tucked under the blanket, warmed by a space heater. Yuna leaves them there to grab Scar’s phone and turns off the radio on her way out. It rings in her ear as she moves to the kitchen. Ida takes longer to answer than she expects her to, which aggravates her more than she should allow it because going into any conversation angry is irrational.

“Marina Ida speaking.”

**“Well, I’d hope so. I didn’t call the inkling. Do you not check who’s calling you?”** Yuna waits for a reply, gets none, and keeps on talking.  **“Here to report that she’s been put to bed. Also one of you better show up tomorrow or you will be ambushed by a platoon before the next morning.”**

**“... I really don’t think she wants us there. We obviously failed somewhere and now any progress we’ve made is back to square one.”**

**“None of you have ever raised a soror, have you?”** Yuna’s question is left unanswered and her eyes roll. These prodigies; so used to getting their way.  **“There’s never a way to go back square one. The elder always leaves imprints, whether they mean to or not. You haven’t failed. It’s not exactly easy to raise a creature.”**

**“You seem to do fine,”** Marina mutters over the line and Yuna has to hold her laugh. How easy it is to forget that the prodigal, General 83 of the Wasabi Unit, is barely an adult herself.

**“I’ve had four younger sororibus if you include Kore. Two at the same time, a set of twins. I’ve had some practice. You and the other one are inexperienced and Cicatriz has issues.”**

Yuna can hear the hiss through her phone and shakes her head, such a nurser this one is. As if Yuna is going to judge Cicatriz for anything. The girl has been dragged through enough in the domes. 

**“You’re no Wasabi general anymore and I’m still older than you, Ida… Look, I’m not here to fight with you. She feels guilty, you all feel guilty, so go to bed knowing she’s asleep.”**

**“Thank you. Goodnight.”**

…

Scar jolts at the cold that slices over her exposed skin. She wearily blinks her eyes open, squinting against the light starting to creep through the room. Kore is practically on top of her and hogging all the blankets, eight arms clinging to Scar’s tentacle, and suckering to the couch. The octoling grumbles as Scar flails herself loose and flops over the edge of the couch. 

It’s odd transforming. Her muscles burn with the stretch and her ink floods through the new limbs. Cartilage stiffens into place, providing stability and Scar stands on shaky legs. Her fingers curl, stiff and unused.

“How did you ever get through morning drills?” Scar asks as she pokes the octopus in the mantle and watches Kore curl up and slither under the blanket.

The blanket pops up as Kore unfurls into limbs and stretches out her formed fingers. A flare of jealousy burns through her ink at such an effortless transformation. It takes Kore so little, and it takes her so much. Her ink has to push through scar tissue and stretch against resistant skin. It’s grossly unfair…

“Too early…” the octoling grumbles and huddles closer to the space heater. “Why up? Even Yuna is not up.”

Kore drops back onto the couch with a thud. The cushions depress under her weight and Scar wonders where they found the thing. The pink octoling feigns sleep under the watching eyes, rolls over so she faces the cushion. Silence spread between them. Thick and heavy and humid. It stuffs her gills with cotton and Kore groans into the pillow just to break the quiet. How can a place as loud as Inkopolis be this quiet?

“What?”

“What happened when something like this happened back home?”

“No understand,” Kore murmurs and twists onto her back, head leaning over the end of the couch and legs in the air.

“What did they do in the domes? When platoon members fought?”

“They split up the members,” Kore mutters and looks at Scar with tired eyes watering with sleep. “Each one gets… what you call it… reassigned. Keeps bad feelings separate.” Silence stretches again and it wakes Kore up. The hum of the heater is not enough. “They write what happened down. Give it to a higher up. Octolings are dealed with… accordingly…” 

“So what do I do?” Scar asks quickly because the sound of their voices is lulling Kore to sleep.

“I don’t know. This isn’t… home…”

…

Eight curses, a hard slew of hard notes that hiss and hold like a quivering brass note as someone sneaks up behind her and goes for the kill. Her ink is forced out of her with a flush of stinging heat. Her ink tank buzzes- saving her soul and warping her back to the spawn pad. A gasp of air escapes her lungs as they reform, ink solidifying into tissue and sealing her gill slits into useless flaps of skin as she pops back into the open air. Eight lets out a hagged breath and shakes her head to clear the fog. 

Three bumps into Eight gently, her heroshot replica gripped firmly in her hands. The inkling is silent, a raise of her brow the only indication of a response. When Eight glowers, brow furrowed and her beak is drawn so tight the skin wrinkles at the corner, Three tilts her head. Their teammates screech at them through the comms and the raucous makes Three scrunch up her nose in an adorable sneer. The inkling pulls the thing out of her ear (which will definitely get her reprimanded if she’s caught).

The alarm that sounds in Eight’s ear means that her team has lost the tower. It means that she should get back on her perch and get her eye to her scope. That she should banish anyone who gets too close to Three with one lethal kiss through the body. Her minimap indicates that their last player front lining has fallen. Eight hefts her E-Liter 4k up and shakes off Three’s paralyzing gaze. She gets herself onto a perch and returns her girlfriend’s heavy stare. 

Three rolls her eyes and her shoulders fall under the iron gaze. Her head shakes and she returns to the objective, ready to splat anyone who gets too close. Eight would never let Three hear the end of it if she let one of these idiots past her and Eight got splatted because of it. So, Three ignores her huffy girlfriend with her sassy eyes and puffed cheeks and attacks the nearest enemy. Three tries to keep herself back so that she can lure others into Eight’s range. The sound of gunfire and the pop of an enemy bathed in blue lets Three push forward. She splats the victim on the tower with a flush of orange. Someone gets on the tower’s grating. The tone tings in Eight’s ear and the tower lights up orange.

It’s another win under the duo’s belt and they use their earnings to grab something to eat at Crusty Sean’s. Three sips at a protein drink, the healthiest thing on the menu, and ignores Eight’s judging glare.

“So much flavor. You choose  _ that _ .”

Three ignores Eight’s words and leans against the railing outside Pearl’s and Marina’s studio. It’s less populated than normal. The main attraction MIA for the moment. Young faces droop in disappointment at the realization and leave the window free of smudges. It gives Three some sort of amusement to watch them come to the conclusion that Off the Hook is off-site.

“Obsessed grubs.”

“Meanie,” Eight giggles and droops into Three’s side. Her crumbs drop onto Three’s sweatshirt, stark gold against the navy blue. There she nuzzles into the inkling’s mantle, the top of her head grazing Three’s tentacles that were tied up in a bun. Eight rests there, breathing measured breaths and letting her eyes closed. Three’s arm tightens around Eight’s waist, the warmth contrasting the cold metal of the railing they leaned against.

“What’s wrong?”

Eight’s eyes blink open and she peers up at Three through them. She hums in acknowledgment but makes no move to answer. The octoling makes a pitched grunt of discontent as Three releases her grip on her girlfriend’s waist so that she can enter Eight’s line of sight. The blaze of sun that hits Three’s eyes makes her puckered skin wrinkle like messy bedsheets as she is forced to squint and readjust her stance. Facing Eight, Three is slouched and has her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. If the winter chill bothered her, Three didn’t show it. Green ink rushes through Three’s mantle as she tilts her head, falling with gravity as the weight of the silence settles between them.

“You’re being too quiet.”

“Something happened yesterday… With Scar.”

Eight shifts where she stands and glances at the empty room before them, the only image the glass shows is her own reflection. Eight scuffs her feet against the pavement, kicking up rubble that clatters across the sidewalk like the staccato of a song.

Three wraps a hand around Eight’s wrist and gives a gentle tug. It leads to them secluding themselves in the alley between the tower and the studio. Three leans against the wall and Eight props herself up with the sturdy cardboard boxes left waiting for the city’s recycling crew. The closet creature around them is Murch, but the sea urchin has ears only for gear and cash, so their conversation is safe. Spyke matches eyes with Three from where he wastes away his time in that cafe, but besides that the two are alone.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Eight whimpers, knocks her head against the soft cardboard. “It’s a mess. We got into a fight. Scar kicked Pearl.” Eight ignores the ripple of shocked red that flares through Three’s mantle. “I worded stuff bad and she hates me. Ugh, what made me think I could do this?! I can’t help her! I barely remember anything about me!” Moisture pools in Eight’s large eyes and threatens to dribble so she smashes her hands against her eyes to dam the flow. “I don’t know how to- how to… I’m too broken to help her.” Eight gasps in air, pinches her nose to distract her from her racing hearts. “I don’t- the most I remember about being octarian is the words. And these… these random feelings. What do I know about being a good soror? What if I had one and completely ruined her? I wasn’t with a platoon… there’s a reason I was by myself! I can not-”

Eight’s rambling is cut off by Three poking them in the forehead. The agent squats before them, her weight rolling her forward as she stands up.

“You’re not broken, idiot.” The words are breathed out with a wisp of a laugh, so Eight smiles as Three pulls her up. “I barely know carp about octarian society. You know all I’m good for is shooting things…” Three runs a thumb over Eight’s mouth when the octoling jumps up to defend her honor, “Relax. Point is… I don’t think Scar needs an octarian. She ain’t in the domes.” The inkling fiddles with their entwined hands, tightening her grip. “She’s your sister, right?”

“I… Yes?” Eight squirms as Three continues her silence, waiting for Eight to make a decision. “Yes. I- Sororibus are not to be given or taken with no thought. I call her mine, so she is my soror.”

Three gives the hands between them another tight squeeze and further entwines their arms as she leans in for a hug, “Then you’re doing just fine. Sisters fight. I would know, I have Callie and Marie on my back all the time. 

“... She’s not well, Three.”

“You saved the world. You’ll be fine.”

Another squeeze before Three wraps her arms around Eight’s waist and draws Eight into her chest. Three’s hearts beat loudly in Eight’s ear, a reassurance. Reassurance that Three is there, whether Eight screws this up or not. The ace in the hole if things go south. Ready with her heroshot or a tub of ice cream, whichever is needed. Eight lets her eyes close.

  
  



	11. Mute Pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making amends with no words said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are heading toward the 'arc's' climax. Part two (The Sound of Music) will be a separate story. Mostly because I'm changing the naming theme for part two because two words, rhyming titles are very hard to find!

(Dear Senpai part III)

Three finds Scar sitting atop Cuttlefish Cabin as she’s switching off with Four. Scar’s legs kick at empty air, occasionally hitting the roofing and disrupting the music flowing from Callie’s record player. Callie and Marie flinch each time that Scar’s foot catches the roof with a harsh smack. It has no pattern: random noises that screw up the four-four beat. Three gives Four a small wave as they pass, decked out in their hero gear. They offer a two-fingered salute and Four hefts their hero splating up. Four insists on doing their runs with a different weapon every time, for absolutely no reason besides feeding into Sheldon’s obsession. 

Marie flees with Four to Slimeskin, the next area registered for a patrol. The idol squeezes Three’s hand as she leaves. Marie glances up at Scar, looks Three dead in the eye. Three’s mantle wavers an unamused, irritated murky orange.

“It’s your sister in law.”

Three’s eyes roll back in her head. She untangles their hands and brushes past Marie with a shove that earns her a whack at her knees from Marie’s umbrella. It doesn’t deter Three and Marie sulks after Four with a pout, warning them through her comm for them not to get themselves into trouble.

Red eyes turn to Scar. The child is scratching away at a pad of paper with a pen. Scar kick hits the roof again and Callie shoots Three a look. Three responds by firing one shot at Callie that globs pitifully to Callie’s forehead and rolls down her face. She ignores Callie’s glare and watches her shake the ink off her face, wiping at it with her sleeve. Three’s mantle flushes with a pastel red, splotching with a bright yellow, and Three nods up at Scar scratching away at the pad of paper.

“Eight dropped her off an hour ago.”

Three permits a hum to show her acknowledgment and enters the cabin to change her clothes. She checks her phone as she is kicking off her pants and finds Eight’s text messages. It’s over an hour too late, but Three responds like a good girlfriend. Her head pops through Eight’s gray sweatshirt (because Eight keeps stealing hers) and it’s still shorter than she’d like it. She’d go buy another one, but Eight would eventually shimmy her way into it and Three would lose it to the girlfriend void. She’s tying her boots and preparing to shove the wad of used clothes into the closet (and ignore future Marie nagging about just putting her clothes in the cod forsaken basket) when she gets a reply. It’s a picture, the left hand corner has Eight’s bored expression and the background is Deca’s giant screen showing some ranked match. Three sighs, her shoulders falling with the exhale. The agent cracks her neck, breaking up the stiff ink that had started stiffening around the muscle and heads back outside.

Scar looks over her shoulder as Three scrambles up onto the roof. She lets the pen still against the paper, ink pooling under the pen nib. Scar does nothing to stop Three from peering over her tentacle to get a look at the writing. When the agent turns her gaze to Scar instead of the list of pros and cons, Scar’s attempt at deciding whether or not to blow the whistle and get a different foster placement, the girl shrinks into herself.

Scar’s mantle flushes a guilty green just a shade darker and bluer than her natural color. The list is hidden against her chest. Three raises a brow and watches Scar unfurl into colors, a mosiac that blends and blurs and harshly shifts. The agent watches as her color hastily saturates and dulls, her indecision written by the stress spots and her inconsistent tones. Three taps the roof to draw Scar’s eyes to her. She flares an inquisitive yellow, the brightness gentled by ripples of calming blue. All Three receives is guilty green and speckles of indigo.

Three relieves Scar of her gaze and turns her eyes to the scenery of Octo Canyon. When Three first met Scar five months ago, she had been arriving to head onto a patrol in one of the Outpost’s domes. Back then Scar spent her hours on the scaffolding of the abandoned ruins, staring at the domes as the summer sun cast shadows over her body. She’d stay lurking there for hours with nothing but books to keep her company. She was always reading, trying to relearn a language she had never properly learned the first time. Occasionally, Three would see Callie near her, back pressed against a wall as Callie talked and talked. Mostly in inklish, Callie’s attempt on driving home pronunciation, and sometimes in octarian. The alien words a balm to Scar when she could no longer hold her color and her mantle exploded with patchworks of purples and indigos and dying whites.

The agent picked up exposition as it was dropped. Tucked the information away like she did the pieces of paper she’d occasionally find in the domes. Scar had lived with octolings for most of her memorable youth, almost half her life. Before the domes? No one knew and no one prodded. It’s not the way the NSS really worked, bar the captain digging through old files to see if the octolings that popped up were threats or refugees. 

Sometimes Octavio gets loose beaked and Three gets more pages to fill in the story. Bad parents and an illegal black market. Radical groups and sniping rifles. Prodigal aim. Justifications for using it as a weapon. A platoon with a sergeant called Cee. Who was Cee? He doesn’t know. A number on a list somewhere. Captain orders them to avoid conflict if they are found. The book still had chapters missing, torn out and possibly lost to time. Three would like to say Scar had just forgotten, but she doubts it. The prologue is remembered every time someone calls for the girl and whenever Scar has to look in a mirror. Burned into her memory like the scar etched on her face.

Three’s first actual interaction with Scar was during a hot and humid summer night. Her ink felt heavy as it lugged through her. Excess flushing out her pores to try to dispel the heat. Callie and Marie had been gone all week- their duel careers conflicting once more, so the cabin should have been empty. Three found her before the television, some random documentary lighting up Scar’s face. She hadn’t seen Scar for a while. Callie had pulled strings and Marie made some calls to try to find Scar a foster home. Three hadn’t seen Scar in two months. Four, early for their shift, watched from Callie’s typical seat, and shrugged at Three’s questioning look. The other agent had cast another concerned look at Scar before scurrying off to do their night watch.

There were no bruises. She looked fed. Nothing physical that Three could see and Three would like to call herself an expert on noticing injuries. But her eyes seemed dead and her mantle dull, exhausted and limp. The laceration above her eye lit up with the T.V’s light and shone brighter than her dull irises. Three flashed some necessary questions, not ones she particularly wanted to deal with depending on the answer, but ones she would if she had to. Three’s best with a gun, but her fists work just as well. The agent never received an answer from Scar. She did manage to settle herself on the ground and change the channel to some comedy movie. It was a terrible movie, but it kept them awake. Three understood not wanting to talk. Creatures can be shitty; Three knew that fact well. When Marie explained, the next week, that the placement flopped terribly, Three understood why Scar kept her distance from the two socialites. Misplaced anger… but Scar’s a kid so Three let it slide.

A dramatic huff snaps the agent’s brain back into focus. Scar spawls herself out on the roof, frustrated and fingers numb from the cold. Three easily snags the notepad from her weak grip and starts scribbling her chicken scratch. She knocks against the roof’s surface to draw Scar’s attention and taps the pad with the pen. The pad is offered back with the pen balanced on top and Scar takes it gently, as if the words would break if handled roughly. The girl quickly gets to work, writing bullet after bullet and flipping to a new page when necessary. Three smiles to herself and turns her face to the sun starting to peak out over the Outpost’s octopus sculpture. Scar and Three both found talking hard, perhaps this would be the answer.

…

Scar clutches the letters in her hands and forces her mantle to settle into its neutral color. It’s been quiet in the apartment for days, everyone afraid of breaking the peace. Scar avoids them as much as they avoid her, not that there is much time to avoid each other. Frostyfest looms in the upcoming days. Off the Hook is run ragged between rehearsals and fittings. Marina is agonizing over final inspections for the new stage and Pearl has been humming vocal exercises in their practice room trying to keep her mega voice under control. Eight is… sparse. Scar finds herself with Kore or at Cuttlefish Cabin frequently. Pearl decided to keep one of her father’s extra drivers around for Scar, part chauffeur and part babysitter. It’s the one that brought her to Ammo Knights the day of the incident; Scar appreciates that he’s quiet and lets Scar keep the radio off. He was a peace offering from when the child didn’t want Eight to be her keeper. When anger boiled low in her ink whenever Eight didn’t approve of acts Scar’s been doing since before they met. Scar wishes Eight was around now. Now that she barely sees her except for meals and the ranked highlight reels. 

The letters are words Scar can’t say because she’s always been a _cobarde_ . She hides from everything. From enemies by staying out of reach. From Eight, who deserves a better soror, and from Off the Hook, who deserves to not have Scar drag their names through the mud. She’s a _cobarde_ even now, hiding behind pen and paper because her shame is too heavy and burns hot in the light. She doesn’t want to hear their answers or see their reactions. She’s selfish really- she just wants this guilt off her chest and to recede to a corner and never face them again. They deserve words and she deserves their judgment, but her mantle wavers with indigo at the thought. She can’t live with the shame clogging her ink. Letters will have to do.

The list she started with Three is tapped to the wall above her- the desk. _Things to apologize for_ , it reads in a barely legible scrawl. Bullets litter sheet after sheet of paper. Things to apologize for? Scar categorized herself by cephalpod: Eight, Pearl, and Marina. Three different letters. 

In Eight’s she repents for her insubordination, her blatant disrespect. She wants to take back her harsh words and her bitterness. Scar clung to Eight’s mistake instead of learning from it. She doesn’t try to learn Eight’s lessons. Scar should put more into being the frontliner Eight keeps pushing her to be instead of clinging to her charger like it’s a baby blanket. Eight works at being a good soror and Scar barely puts any effort into her part at all.

In Pearl’s she apologizes for her violence and her silence. She writes how she hopes the bruise is better, how she hopes it doesn’t affect her dancing. Scar rambles about her silence in more words than Scar thinks she’s ever exchanged with Pearl. It’s hard to trust her, Scar admits, because Pearl has the hooks, a loud voice, and a louder family name. It’s irrational and Scar has seen her fears debunked numerous times, but Scar is selfish with her fear and refuses to let things go. 

Marina? Scar stared at her letter for a long time. Her biggest mistake is uprooting Marina’s stability and dragging her into this mess. Scar apologizes for that. Marina is the one who cleans up the messes. She’s been ridiculed by Yuna and hissed at by herself and Eight for just trying to keep the peace. Scar is a war bringer, not fit to live with a peacekeeper like her.

It’s night time. Everyone should be asleep. Pearl and Marina sink into sleep like rocks these days. Eight came back tired and sore from ranked matches and collapsed into bed the minute the dinner clean up was done. It’s silent as the dead, a quiet that reminds Scar of being dragged up to the surface and having the glasses’ tech unwired. The silence is what Scar became used to even as it rubbed her the wrong way at first. The domes are not quiet unless they have died. But silence means freedom on the surface, Scar’s closest feeling to comfort in this alien world. Silence is the summer days she spent at the Outpost and the autumn afternoons where she hid amongst the books in the library. No gossip or constant talking in a language she could understand but not respond in. No blasting music making her fingers fumble and her hearts race as she picked apart her charger.

Scar quietly makes her way through the apartment. She hides Marina’s letter in her laptop bag, stuffed between the fabric and the computer. The DJ’s laptop is packed up by the door, waiting to be whisked away as the duo runs to their first appointment. Pearl’s gets put under her motorcycle helmet. For sure the last item Pearl is bound to grab as she is ushered out the door by Marina. Marina feels like they are always running late, so Pearl will stuff the letter in her pockets thinking it's a note to herself she forgot about and read it when she remembers it exists around lunch. 

Eight’s is harder to hide, and Scar has to hide it. She’s a coward after all- she wants to be nowhere near any of them when they find the letters. Scar would like to put it in Eight’s turf bag, but it’s tucked away in Eight’s bedroom. Besides, Eight is at the apartment tomorrow, but Scar knows she’s doing her deep maintenance of all her weapons. Replacement parts and extra cleaning supplies showed up earlier in the week by mail. It means the octoling will be hermitted in her room until every weapon is up to snuff, well over thirty of them. Scar ends up settling with sticking it to the fridge in the morning, after Pearl and Marina have left. Eight will eventually have to eat and Scar is planning on releasing her stress on Sheldon’s blow-up dummies all day.

…

Marina is on her third iced coffee, beak gnawing on the straw as she thrums in her seat as the caffeine floods her ink. Pearl has a coffee too. It’s laced with so much cream and sugar the Marina no longer considers it coffee and Pearl is inhaling it so fast the majority of what’s left is melting whipped cream. They’re both running on fumes. Tired and stressed from both their jobs and their home. Marina can see Pearl buckling under it all in a way that Marina hasn’t seen since the metro. Pearl is mumbling because she’s sleep drunk and blinking to focus herself. Her voice shouts when it means to whisper and is wavering on her notes. They are both supposed to be drinking tea. Their producer has only heard Marina off-key once before this week and dosed her in lavender tea. Three days to Splatfest is no time for one of them to lose their tune.

Marina shoves her worries away for later. Right now is work and she needs to get it done so she has time to pick apart the situation at home once she’s off the clock. Pearl’s slurping has stopped and the inkling is now memorizing the order of the concert's events. Pearl is tapping her foot to the song blaring through their speaker. Marina takes comfort in the familiarity, humming the melody to herself. She pulls her laptop case onto the table to check her emails for updates on the shifty station. A folded piece of paper flies out as she tugs her computer out of its sleeve.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t know,” Marina answers and picks the paper up from the ground. “I don’t remember putting anything in there.”

“Yeah, but we shove stuff anywhere these days. I found one under my helmet. I don’t even remember putting it there… I should probably read it,” Pearl adds on and digs through her stuff to pull the folded piece of paper into the light. “Ah ha, found it!”

They both go to open the notes they forgot they left behind and they tumble open with little fanfare. It takes a second for the confusion to settle because this was not Marina’s technical print or Pearl’s sliding scrawl. The second it registers, Pearl is throwing herself out of her chair. It crashes to the ground as Pearl squishes herself next to Marina and shoves her face into the paper between the octoling’s hands.

“Pearlie, read your own first,” Marina pushes Pearl away, “These look personal.”

They’re finishing the last words. Pearl is biting her lip, pushing her crown up her head with the hand not holding the letter. Her fingers twitch and she drops the paper to keep herself from crumpling it. Marina is gentler, neatly folding hers back up and entwining her fingers. Like clockwork, their phones ping. Marina checks it, already knowing it’s Eight. Eight tells them she found hers when she went to get lunch. Marina exits the group chat, enters her private logs with Scar. It’s pretty sparse, the last one was from Yuna using Scar’s phone to say that the octoling met up with Scar at Ammo Knights and was taking her out for lunch. The duo already knew that. Pearl got a call from the driver asking if he should let Scar leave.

“What’s our next move?” Pearl asks and stares at Marina with determined eyes. As if they were discussing a business deal. It makes Marina remember that Pearl grew up the heir to an economic empire.

“Holiday starts tomorrow and we’re done until Frostyfest bar some sort of terrible misstep.”

“And? What? Force her to talk? Try to tell her she’s not the fuck up she thinks she is, because I don’t think we’re going to convince her.”

“We don’t need to convince her,” Marina reassures and grabs Pearl’s hand across the table. She wants to pull her into her lap and bury her face in the crook of Pearl’s neck, but creatures are watching through the glass. Now is not the time to stir up a ruckus. Not with Scar already unstable and scared of the paparazzi’s lights. Even Pearl can’t scare off the paparazzi.

“I mean… convincing her would be nice,” Pearl drawls out slowly, eyeing Marina and wondering if the lack of sleep is getting to Marina’s big brain. “S’not like we _want_ her to think that everything’s her fault.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Marina interrupts as she draws her hand back and fixes her headphones, “Let’s order in, put on a movie, and have a good old cuddle session. We can work on helping her process the thoughts later. Let’s just… make absolute sure that she knows she’s got a home with us. No matter what. ”

“Shell yeah! We saved the world once,” Pearl agrees and sends Marina a feral grin that’s all beak and squinted eyes. “I ain’t letting this stop us! Us against the world, right Reena?”

“Us against the world,” Marina echoes back with a faint smile and opens up her laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think Scar even speaks in this chapter. Four is using they/them as a split-second decision only for me to realize that I called Four a her way back in chapter 1 so I went back and fixed that. 
> 
> Me: *puts Three is the story summary*
> 
> Also me: *Doesn't have Three play almost any role until the story is over 70% over besides her being gay for her gorlfriend* SHE'S THERE THOUGH! As her silent self


	12. Bright Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scar gets pushed into the light once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for blood (ink, but its the equivalent of blood). I don't think it's very graphic, but I'm pretty desensitized to blood description.

(Into the Light part I)

Scar balances on the scaffolding of some run down building on the edge of town. It creaks under her meager weight. Groans as she tiptoes across the rusting beams. Yuna is with a group of strangers- octolings that Scar has never seen and who have never seen her. There’s an excitement in the air. As there should be because octolings are reuniting. A new wave has found its way to the surface.

It’s bound to happen. The domes have been dying since the day the octarians went underground. Each year brought less energy, less food, and more death. Spawn pads were on the fritz, for although their weaponry is advanced the octarian biomedical technology is not. It's outdated and has high consumption rates- for one to have nine lives others had to sacrifice bits of their own. Now, with the government in shambles as leaders bicker over a war long dead and domes dying with each death of an overworked zapfish, more octolings resist the pull of their elders and strive for the surface. 

This batch is not who Scar hoped it would be. They are too young faced, barely older than Agent Four. Their eyes squint at the sun. The sun they can’t resist staring at even as Yuna and the others warn them to stop. One of the octolings Scar has seen in Yuna’s neighborhood hands out blankets to keep the cold at bay. None of them have the proper attire for an Inkopolis winter. One of them, a male with his tentacles twisted into a ponytail, sprawls his hands out into the tiny patches of weeds that have long since taken over. He traces the veins of the leaves and draws back gently.

Scar can feel the bitterness sweep through her stomach. Coil there like a snake. It’s not them. No group that has made their way to Inkopolis is. It’s wrong, they way she curses them in her head. How she mocks them in her mind for staring wide eyed at some weed. There’s not a full platoon amongst them. Just pieces of one- deserters who turned their backs on the ones who always had theirs. The sergeants that led them and kept them alive in those dying rust buckets are nowhere to be seen. Don’t they understand that they had someone out there ready to die for them? Scar picks at a fleck of rust with the toe of her boot.

Kore is babbling with one of them from the ground and Scar tunes her out. The inkling takes a breath. In for three, out for four. Just as Etoile had told her as she pressed her ear to Scar’s back to check her lungs. Check ups had always made her nervous. The cold touch of metal seeping through her skin always made her ink rush and pound deafeningly in her ears. Etoile never used metal instruments. Just warm hands and soft clothes, wrapping her mantle as gentle as the touch of a flower petal. The memory warms Scar’s skin from the winter’s bite and settles the ink angrily rushing through Scar’s mantle. Another breath… one, two, three, four. With the last exhale, Scar blinks and shakes her head to clear the fog. The anger huffs out into the air and the cold prickles at her skin. Be happy, this group won’t die.

The beam under her feet whines and wobbles as Scar climbs up and up. Pieces of chipping metal bites into the soft skin of her hands. The sun blisters her eyes as she looks up, but the winter cold sucks up any warmth it gives off. The cold needles her exposed face, Scar’s mask providing only the slightest protection as a gust whirls through. A haunted hiss eeks out of the structure as Scar’s weight sways it before it stiffens up once more. 

**“H-hey!”** A voice shouts from below. Scar doesn’t recognize it and is too focused on stretching to reach the next rung to look to see who it is. **“Wait! That thing is not stable!”**

Scar does look this time. Leans her weight back as her head twists over her shoulder. The voice had been too faint- what did he say? Her grip is tight, but it doesn’t save her as the bolt creaks. The bar in her hand jerks with a sharp creak. Scar fumbles, legs coming up and kicking at empty air. She tries to scramble up to the platform above. The loosened bar heaves under her weight.

Winter wind is nothing compared to the loose bar ripping through her mantle. It tears at her flesh. Rips it like a piece of paper. Some shard of it gets through the knit of her beanie and to the skin. Ink flushes down her face and Scar releases her grip reflexively as she goes to staunch the flow. She clips into the platform just feet below. Scar goes to remove her beanie and recoils with a hiss as she grazes the large tear. Her hand comes back smeared in her own ink.

Her head throbs. Hands are reaching for her. Yuna catches her weight and settles her on the ground. Scar flops onto her good side. Gravity pulls the dark vital ink down her face. It pools a dark teal onto the gravel. Seeps between the bits of rock and debris and trickles off in all directions. Scar gasps air into her lungs. Her chest hiccups with her rising panic. Yuna is saying something to her, but Scar can’t hear her over the rush on ink. 

**“Cicatriz! Cicatriz, focus!”**

Scar blinks and ignores the woozy feeling as she tries to lift her head.

**“Cictraiz, you need a medic. You are losing a lot of vital ink. We are going to bring you to a hospital-”**

**“No doctor!”** Scar screeches and forces herself into a sitting position. Kore is at her side and presses her jacket to the inkling’s gushing mantle. Yuna’s arms wrap around her as Scar angrily warbles and twists. Her tentacle raises and smacks against Kore’s chest. There’s no force behind it. The ink that normally inflates it is pouring out the other side.

 **“Yes, doctor! You will be in critical condition if you continue to bleed like this,”** Yuna said firmly. She restricts Scar with one arm, unfazed by the pitched screeches and the beak trying to break into her skin. **“Kore, call the emergency number. Then call her soror.”**

Sound warbles in her ears. The lack of ink distorts a lot of things. It’s hard not to morph into a squid. It’d be easier to condense, less space to pump ink. She almost does, feels herself liquify before the stabbing pain returns. Right… she’s bleeding. Fingers are snapping in her face and white irises focus on the motion. A shadow blocks out the sun and her vision wavers. 

Yuna lets the medic near Scar with wary eyes. There is no way keeping her tentacles that long is efficient. It’s a blessing that Scar is wobbling the border of coherency as she’s ushered into the blaring vehicle. The medic would’ve been littered in bites if Scar could see the suckers swaying near her face. Yuna is the one that gets in the back with them, one of her old platoon members taking Kore. The two medics turret the wound as much as they can- there’s barely any room. It slows the flood of ink enough. The sedative they pump through Scar keeps her from irritating the slowly clotting wound and keeps her pain free. It makes Yuna’s tentacles writhe. There are too many tubes and Scar can’t focus her eyes. 

The phone she clutches is blaring in her hand. Yuna turns it off when ordered too because the sharp turns already risk a needle piercing through the thin membrane. Eight will have to forgive her. The doors are shoved open. Scar, strapped to a gurney is lifted by the two inklings and met by others. Yuna raises her hands to shield herself from the bright lights.

…

Her tongue feels weird in her mouth. Heavy and thick. It pushes against her beak, trying to break free of her mouth. Fear flushes through with a bursting blister as cold seeps into her skin. As her eyes flare open, the first thing she notices in the blinding light. Her neck jerks, head locked in position by… something hard and unyielding. Scar flails even though her limbs feel like they’re weighed down by concrete. There’s a crash as her legs connect to a table and tilts it over. Hands are on her shoulders, sound echoes in her head. Her mantle flushes as it inflates reflexively as it paints itself indigo. 

There’s a prick in her restrained arm that makes her snap her beak at thin air. Her tentacle sways instinctively and uselessly, hookless sucker adhering to whatever they can cling to. Each pump of her hearts lug a thickness through her body. The touches fade away as her eyes droop. The weight tugging her under and back into the comfort of the darkness. Scar let her eyes close. The bright light stung anyway.

This time when her eyes open, her tongue still won't rest nicely in her mouth. Her skin is rubbing against fabric that’s too scratchy to be her bed. Her head is wrapped snug. The bandages pressing into the soft skin of her face. Scar touches at it and catches her finger on the metal clip binding it together. She wants a drink. Anything to get rid of the gross dry mouthfeel. Scar pushes herself up fully. Her limbs tingle as ink flows to numb limbs. Small fingers flex, trying to regain feeling.

“COD DAMN IT! WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING TELL US?! HOW THE SHELL DID NO ONE KNOW?!”

A whimper escapes as Scar flops back down into the bed. No avoiding them now. It turns into a yelp as the force pushes through the wound. The door creaks open and Scar flings the bedsheet over her head. Pearl is angrily huffing under her breath. The soft melody of Marina’s voice ebbs the loud inkling.

“Avecita, you up yet?” Marina asks quietly and through the white of the sheet Scar can see three shadows. The tall blob wavers as Scar curls up under the blanket. “Come on, Avecita, they want to give you a concussion test.”

“Go away…”

“Come on, squiddo, we got to get you checked out properly,” Pearl adds softly and perches herself on the end of the bed. “And then we totally need to discuss the fact that you have had a piece of your fucking head missing this whole time.”

“Pearl!”

“She’s missing an entire tentacle, Reena!” Pearl said. “That ain’t normal! They’re suppose to grow back.”

“Just go away… Just let Contra deal with me…”

“We ain’t going nowhere.”

“Everyone’s going to know about this. And they’re going to say you hit me. And I’m not going to be allowed to stay even if I _want_ to. I’m no good!” The sheet flies off Scar and puffs over Pearl like a balloon. Scar angrily glares at them, her black mask bent into a scowl. “Don’t you get it?! I’m no good!” Scar pushes Pearl off the bed with weak arms and stares the three intruders in the face. “I’m no frontliner. I’m not some prodigy. I _kicked_ you! I’m- I’m a screw up of a bobtail! My color is wrong. My mantle is destroyed-”

Scar’s rant dies off as Eight pushes forward and wraps herself around her as gently as possible. Her pink tentacles latch onto whatever skin she can reach as Eight hooks her chin on Scar’s shoulders.

“Shut up,” the agent mutters, “No one cares about that. And if anyone does, I’ll splat them with my bare hands… You’re my sister and I’m not letting them take you anywhere.”

“We can handle the paparazzi,” Marina reassures as she and Pearl take up spots on the bed on either side of Scar. “They’ve been making stories up about us since Ebb and Flow.”

“Breaking news: Houzuki princess blackmails young artist and steals her work,” Pearl’s voice mockingly pitches and transitions to a snicker. “Or something dumb like that, right? Hey, whoever finds the craziest headline chooses dinner.”

Scar’s mantle flushes an irritated orange as she pulls at Eight’s clothes and clutches at her neck. She settles into Eight’s warmth as the octoling slides herself where Scar had been. 

“I’m sorry... For yelling. And kicking Pearl and being mean…”

Pearl grazes her leg to draw Scar’s attention, “No harm done, kid.”

“We forgave you ages ago, Avecita,” Marina agrees and wriggles her longest tentacle before the child. Marina smiles as it is gently grasped and wraps the end around Scar’s wrist. “You’re our shoal, Scar. Nothing will change that.”

“Promise?”

“No fear, sister. You’re ours forever.”

…

Eight stays with Scar. Sweet drinks and bagged snacks at the ready and Marina’s laptop already streaming the Tidal League’s highlight reels from what feels like forever ago. Pearl is anxious, buzzing where she stands with pent up energy. Marina grounds her by keeping an arm around her waist as they wait outside the room for the doctor to return with more precise answers on why an inkling’s entire tentacle wouldn’t regrow.

“Pearl Houzuki and Marina Ida, correct?” the doctor starts as he approaches them. A clipboard in hand. When they make sounds of agreement, the inkling makes a motion toward the door only for Marina to intercept.

“Would it be possible for us to do this out here? Please? We don’t want to upset her.”

The inkling smiles and nods, “Of course. So, let’s get started with what everyone knows. She fell and tore her mantle climbing some old rigging. Ah kids, always getting places they shouldn’t- Anyhow,” the doctor clears his throat. “Sorry, thinking about how my son tore himself climbing onto the roof. Anyways, the piece tore through a mass of scar tissue. She was brought here via ambulance after her friend’s guardian called. She was sedated due to a violent reaction as her original painkiller sedative wore off while we were doing an examination of the wound. She received four staples to close the wound that should be removed in a few days.” The doctor looks up from the papers to them, “She’s awake? Lucid? Responsive?”

“Yes to all three,” Marina answers.

“So, like, her mantle? Is there any way that’s going to heal properly or?”

“Tentacles usually regenerate because the healing cut site creates a layer of signaling cells that form the blastema. From there the cells do their thing, science talk until the new limb is there. The girl has scar tissue, which shouldn’t develop in the tentacles. It looks like the hook removal surgery caused an infection and they amputated the dead mass. However, it doesn’t look like she underwent the proper treatment and the infection wrecked the macrophages that clear out all the junk that builds up and prevented the tentacle from regenerating. Hence, the body healed it as if it was a cut in the global mantle.”

“Those damn maniacs. If we ever find them,” Pearl grumbles lowly and takes a deep breath. “Okay, is there anything we can do?”

“This is very uncommon, Ms. Houzuki,” the doctor explains sadly. “Any treatment would be completely experimental.”

“Let’s ask Scar first, okay Pearlie?” 

“For now, the cut itself has been cleaned and wrapped. It will need to be cleaned and checked for infection at least three times a day until we get those staples removed. If we can submerge her, that’d be great, but I’m sure with all that scar tissue it must be painful for her to shift... Her file really had no mention of this... Kid can keep a secret,” the doctor mumbles in slight awe.

“Is that everything? Can we get her home soon?” 

“Yes, yes, of course,” the doctor answers. “I’m sure she wants to head home. I need signatures from you, Ms. Houzuki. I’ll send a nurse your way to do last minute checks and get you some wraps and disinfectant to take home.”

“Thank you,” Marina says sincerely and shakes the offered hand. As the doctor shuffles away to find a nurse the octoling turns to her inkling. “Let’s get her home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scar, I'm so sorry. I promise the hurt part of hurt/comfort is over- it's all hugs and healing from here on out until part 2 I promise. Also, the next chapter is being very stubborn and feels very awkward so it might take a bit especially because school is starting now. It'll be out eventually...


End file.
